;>^t  Tl^ 

TOEMEAfiil 


R/OiAEl 


KATHLEEN  MORRIS 


THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL 


/ 


RACHAEL 


THE  HEART  OF 

RACHAEL 

BY 

KATHLEEN  NORRIS 

AUTHOR  OF 

THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE, 
MOTHER,  SATURDAY'S  CHILD,  ETC. 


FRONTISPIECE  BY 

CHARLES  E.  CHAMBERS 


GROSSET    &    DUNLAP 

PUBLISHERS  NEW    YORK 


Copyright,  1916,  by 

KATHLEEN  NORRIS 

All  rights  reserved,  including  that  of 

translation  into  foreign  languages, 

including  the  Scandinavian 


PRINTED  IN  THE  UNITED  STATES 

AT 
THE  COUNTRY  LIFE  PRESS,  GARDEN  CITY,  N.  Y. 


PS 


TO  MY  TERESA 


BOOK! 


THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL 


CHAPTER  I 

THE  day  had  opened  so  brightly,  in  such  a  welcome 
Wave  of  April  sunshine,  that  by  mid-afternoon  there 
were  two  hundred  players  scattered  over  the  links  of  the 
Long  Island  Country  Club  at  Belvedere  Bay;  the  men 
in  thick  plaid  stockings  and  loose  striped  sweaters,  the 
women's  scarlet  coats  and  white  skirts  making  splashes 
of  vivid  color  against  the  fresh  green  of  grass  and  the 
thick  powdering  of  dandelions.  It  was  Saturday,  and 
a  half-holiday;  it  was  that  one  day  of  all  the  year  when 
the  seasons  change  places,  when  winter  is  visibly  worsted, 
and  summer,  with  warmth  and  relaxation,  bathing  and 
tennis  and  motor  trips  in  the  moonlight,  becomes  again 
a  reality. 

There  was  a  real  warmth  in  the  sunshine  to-day, 
there  was  a  fragrance  of  lilac  and  early  roses  in  the  idle 
breezes.  "Hot!"  shouted  the  players  exultantly,  as 
they  passed  each  other  in  the  green  valleys  and  over 
the  sunny  mounds.  "You  bet  it's  hot!"  agreed  stout 
and  glowing  gentlemen,  wiping  wet  foreheads  before 
reaching  for  a  particular  club,  and  panting  as  they  gazed 
about  at  the  unbroken  turf,  melting  a  few  miles  away 
into  the  new  green  of  maple  and  elm  trees,  and  topped, 
where  the  slope  rose,  by  the  white  columns  and  brick 
walls  of  the  clubhouse. 

Motor  cars  swept  incessantly  back  and  forth  on  the 
smooth  roadway;  a  few  riders,  their  horses  wheeling 
and  dancing,  went  down  the  bridle  path,  and  there  was  a 
sprinkling  of  young  men  and  women  and  some  shouting 
and  clapping  on  the  tennis-courts.  But  golf  was  the 


4  THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL 

order  of  the  day.  At  the  first  tee  at  least  two  scores  of 
impatient  players  waited  their  turn  to  drive  off,  and  at 
the  last  green  a  group  of  twenty  or  thirty  men  and 
women,  mostly  women,  were  interestedly  watching  the 
putting. 

Mrs.  Archibald  Buckney,  a  large,  generously  made 
woman  of  perhaps  fifty,  who  stood  a  little  apart  from 
the  group,  with  two  young  women  and  a  mild-looking 
blond  young  man,  suddenly  interrupted  a  general  dis- 
cussion of  scores  and  play  with  a  personality. 

"Is  Clarence  Breckenridge  playing  to-day,  I  wonder? 
Anybody  seen  him?" 

"Must  be,"  said  the  more  definite  of  the  two  rather 
indefinite  girls,  with  an  assumption  of  bright  interest. 
Leila  Buckney,  a  few  weeks  ago,  had  announced  her 
engagement  to  the  mild-looking  blond  young  man, 
Parker  Hoyt,  and  she  was  just  now  attempting  to  hold 
him  by  a  charm  she  suspected  she  did  not  possess  for 
him,  and  at  the  same  time  to  give  her  mother  and  sister 
the  impression  that  Parker  was  so  deeply  in  her  toils 
that  she  need  make  no  further  effort  to  enslave  him. 

She  had  really  nothing  in  common  with  Parker;  their 
conversation  was  composed  entirely  of  personalities 
about  their  various  friends,  and  Leila  felt  it  a  great  bur- 
den, and  dreaded  the  hours  she  must  perforce  spend 
alone  with  her  future  husband.  It  would  be  much  better 
when  they  were  married,  of  course,  but  they  could  not 
even  begin  to  talk  wedding  plans  yet,  because  Parker 
lived  in  nervous  terror  of  his  aunt's  disapproval,  and 
Mrs.  Watts  Frothingham  was  just  now  in  Europe,  and 
had  not  yet  seen  fit  to  answer  her  nephew's  dignified 
notification  of  his  new  plans,  or  the  dutiful  and  gracious 
note  with  which  Miss  Leila  had  accompanied  it. 

The  truth,  though  Leila  did  not  know  it,  was  that 
Mrs.  Frothingham  had  a  pretty  social  secretary  named 
Margaret  Clay,  a  strange,  attractive  little  person, 
eighteen  years  old,  whose  mother  had  been  the  old 
lady's  companion  for  many  years.  And  to  Magsie, 
as  they  all  called  her,  young  Mr.  Hoyt  had  paid  some 


THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL  5 

decided  attention  not  many  months  before.  Mrs. 
Frothingham  had  seen  fit  to  disapprove  these  advances 
then,  but  she  was  an  extraordinarily  erratic  and  cross- 
grained  old  lady,  and  her  silence  now  had  forced  her 
nephew  uncomfortably  to  suspect  that  she  might  have 
changed  her  mind. 

"Darn  it!"  said  the  engaging  youth  to  himself- 
"  It's  none  of  her  business,  anyway,  what  I  do ! "  But  it 
made  him  acutely  uneasy  none  the  less.  He  was  the 
possessor  of  a  good  income,  as  he  stood  there,  this  mild 
little  blond;  it  came  to  him  steadily  and  regularly, 
with  no  effort  at  all  on  his  part,  but,  with  his  aunt's 
million — it  must  be  at  least  that — he  felt  that  he  would 
have  been  much  happier.  There  it  was,  safe  in  the 
family,  and  she  was  seventy-six,  and  without  a  direct 
heir.  It  would  be  too  bad  to  miss  it  now! 

He  thought  of  it  a  great  deal,  was  thinking  of  it  this 
moment,  in  fact,  and  Leila  suspected  that  he  was.  But 
Mrs.  Buckney,  aside  from  a  half-formed  wish  that 
young  persons  were  more  demonstrative  in  these  days, 
and  that  the  wedding  might  be  soon,  had  not  a  care  in 
the  world,  and,  after  a  moment's  unresponsive  silence, 
returned  blithely  to  her  query  about  Clarence  Brecken- 
ridge. 

"I  haven't  seen  him,"  responded  one  of  her  daughters 
presently.  "Funny,  too!  Last  year  he  didn't  miss  a 
day." 

"Of  course  he'll  get  the  cup  as  usual,  this  year,"  Mrs. 
Buckney  said  brightly.  "But  I  don't  suppose  young 
people  with  their  heads  full  of  wedding  plans  will  care 
much  about  the  golf!"  she  added  courageously. 

To  this  Miss  Leila  answered  only  with  a  weary  shrug. 

"Been  drinking  lately,"  Mr.  Hoyt  volunteered. 

"You  say  he  has?"  Mrs.  Buckney  took  him  up 
promptly.  "Is  that  so?  I  knew  he  did  all  the  time, 

of  course,  but  I  hadn't  heard  lately.    Well !     Pretty 

hard  on  Mrs.  Breckenridge,  isn't  it?" 

"Pretty  hard  on  his  daughter,"  Miss  Leila  drawled. 
"He  has  all  kinds  of  money,  hasn't  he,  Park?" 


6  THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL 

"Scads,"  said  Mr.  Hoyt  succinctly.  Conversation 
languished.  Miss  Leila  presently  said  decidedly  that 
unless  her  mother  stood  still,  the  sun,  which  was  indeed 
sinking  low  in  the  western  sky,  got  in  everyone's  eyes. 
Miss  Edith  said  that  she  was  dying  for  tea;  Mr.  Hoyt's 
watch  was  consulted.  Four  o'clock;  it  was  a  little  too 
early  for  tea. 

At  about  five  o'clock  the  sunlight  was  softened  by  a 
steadily  rising  bank  of  fog,  which  drifted  in  from  the 
east;  a  mist  almost  like  a  light  rain  beat  upon  the  faces 
of  the  last  golfers.  There  were  no  riders  on  the  bridle 
path  now,  and  the  long  line  of  motor  cars  parked  by  the 
clubhouse  doors  began  to  move  and  shift  and  lessen. 
People  with  dinner  engagements  melted  mysteriously 
away,  lights  bloomed  suddenly  in  the  dining-room, 
shades  were  drawn  and  awnings  furled. 

But  in  the  club's  great  central  apartment — which 
was  reception-room,  lounging-room,  and  tea-room,  and 
which,  opened  to  the  immense  porches,  was  used  for 
dances  in  summer,  and  closed  and  holly-trimmed,  was 
the  scene  of  many  a  winter  dance  as  well — a  dozen  good 
friends  and  neighbors  lingered  for  tea.  The  women, 
sunk  in  deep  chairs  about  the  blazing  logs  in  the  im- 
mense fireplace,  gossiped  in  low  tones  together,  punctu- 
ating their  talk  with  an  occasional  burst  of  soft  laughter. 
The  men  watched  teacups,  adding  an  occasional  com- 
ment to  the  talk,  but  listening  in  silence  for  the  most 
part,  their  amused  eyes  on  the  women's  interested  faces. 

Here  was  a  representative  group,  ranging  in  age  from 
old  Peter  Pomeroy,  who  had  been  one  of  the  club's 
founders  twelve  years  ago,  and  at  sixty  was  one  of  its 
prominent  members  to-day,  to  lovely  Vivian  Sartoris,  a 
demure,  baby-faced  little  blonde  of  eighteen,  who 
might  be  confidently  expected  to  make  a  brilliant  match 
in  a  year  or  two.  Peter,  slim,  hard,  gray-haired 
and  leaden-skinned,  well-groomed  and  irreproachably 
dressed,  was  discussing  a  cotillion  with  Mrs.  Sartoris,  a 
stout,  florid  little  woman  who  was  only  twice  her  daugh- 


THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL  7 

ter's  age.  Mrs.  Sartoris  really  did  look  young  to 
be  the  mother  of  a  popular  debutante;  she  rode  and 
played  golf  and  tennis  as  briskly  as  ever;  it  was  her  pose 
to  bring  up  the  subject  of  age  at  all  times,  and  to 
threaten  Vivian  with  terrible  penalties  if  she  dared 
marry  before  her  mother  was  forty  at  least. 

Old  Peter  Pomeroy,  who  had  a  shrewd  and  disillu- 
sioned gray  eye,  thought,  as  everyone  else  thought, 
that  Mrs.  Sartoris  was  an  empty-headed  little  fool,  but 
he  rarely  talked  to  a  woman  who  was  anything  else,  and 
no  woman  ever  thought  him  anything  but  markedly 
courteous  and  gallant.  He  was  old  now,  rich,  un- 
married, quite  alone  in  the  world.  For  forty  years  he 
had  kept  all  the  women  of  his  acquaintance  speculating 
as  to  his  plans;  marriageable  women  especially — per- 
haps fifty  of  them — had  been  able  in  all  maidenliness 
to  indicate  to  him  that  they  might  easily  be  persuaded 
to  share  the  Pomeroy  name  and  fortune.  But  Peter 
went  on  kissing  their  hands,  and  thrilling  them  with 
an  intimate  casual  word  now  and  then,  and  did  no 
more. 

Perhaps  he  smiled  about  it  sometimes,  in  the  privacy 
of  his  own  apartments — apartments  which  were  vari- 
ously located  in  a  great  city  hotel,  an  Adirondacks 
camp,  a  luxurious  club,  his  own  yacht,  and  the  beautiful 
home  he  had  built  for  himself  within  a  mile  of  the  spot 
where  he  was  now  having  his  tea.  Sometimes  it  seemed 
amusing  to  him  that  so  many  traps  were  laid  for 
him.  He  could  appraise  women  quickly,  and  now  and 
then  he  teased  a  woman  of  his  acquaintance  with  a 
delightfully  worded  description  of  his  ideal  of  a  wife. 
If  the  woman  thereafter  carelessly  indicated  the  posses- 
sion of  the  desired  qualities  in  herself,  Peter  saw  that, 
too,  but  she  never  knew  it,  and  never  saw  him  laughing 
at  her.  She  went  on  for  a  month  or  two  dressing  bril- 
liantly for  his  carefully  chaperoned  little  dinners,  lis- 
tening absorbed  to  his  dissertations  upon  Japanese 
prints  or  draperies  from  Peshawar,  until  Peter  grew 
tired  and  drew  off,  when  she  must  put  a  brave  face  upon 


8  THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL 

it  and  do  her  share  to  show  that  she  realized  that  the 
little  game  was  over. 

He  had  not  been  entirely  without  feminine  compan- 
ionship, however,  during  the  half-century  of  his  life  as 
a  man.  Everybody  knew  something — and  suspected  a 
great  deal  more — of  various  friendships  of  his.  Even 
the  girls  knew  that  Peter  Pomeroy  was  not  over- 
cautious in  the  management  of  his  affairs,  but  they  did 
not  like  him  the  less,  nor  did  their  mothers  find  him  less 
eligible,  in  a  matrimonial  sense.  Sometimes  he  met  the 
older  women's  hints  quite  seriously,  with  brief  allusions 
to  some  "little  girl"  who  was  always  as  sweet  and 
deserving  and  virtuous  as  his  own  fatherly  interference 
in  her  affairs  was  disinterested  and  kind.  "I  did  what 
I  could  for  her — risking  what  might  or  might  not  be 
said,"  Mr.  Pomeroy  might  add,  with  a  hero's  modest 
smile  and  shrug.  And  if  nobody  ever  believed  him,  at 
least  nobody  ever  challenged  him. 

Vivian  Sartoris,  girlishly  perched  on  the  great  square 
leather  fender  that  framed  the  fireplace,  was  merely 
a  modern,  a  very  modern,  little  girl,  demurely  dressed 
in  the  smartest  of  white  taffeta  ruffles,  with  her 
small  feet  in  white  silk  stockings  and  shoes,  a  dar- 
ing little  black-and-white  hat  mashed  down  upon  her 
soft,  loose  hair,  and,  slung  about  her  shoulders,  a  woolly 
coat  of  clearest  lemon  yellow.  Vivian  gave  the  impres- 
sion of  a  soft  little  watchful  cat,  unfriendly,  alert,  sel- 
fish. Her  manner  was  studiedly  rowdyish,  her  speech 
marred  by  slang;  she  loved  only  a  few  persons  in  the 
world  besides  herself.  One  of  these  few  persons,  how* 
ever,  was  Clarence  Brec  ken  ridge's  daughter,  Carol, 
affectionately  known  to  all  these  persons  as  "Billy," 
and  it  was  in  Miss  Breckenridge's  defence  that  Vivian 
was  speaking  now.  A  general  yet  desultory  discussion 
of  the  three  Breckenridges  had  been  going  on  for  some 
moments.  And  some  particular  criticism  of  the  man  of 
the  family  had  pierced  Miss  Sartoris'  habitual  attitude 
of  bored  silence. 

"That's  all  true  about  him,"  she  said,  idly  spreading 


THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL  9 

a  sturdy  little  hand  to  the  blaze.  "I  have  no  use  for 
Clarence  Breckenridge,  and  I  think  Mrs.  Breckenridge 
is  absolutely  the  most  cold-blooded  woman  I  ever  metf 
She  always  makes  me  feel  as  if  she  were  waiting  to 
see  me  make  a  fool  of  myself,  so  that  she  could  smile 
that  smooth  superior  smile  at  me.  But  Carol's  different 
— she's  square,  she  is;  she's  just  top-hole — if  you  know 
what  I  mean — she's  the  finest  ever,"  finished  Miss  Sar- 
toris,  with  a  carefully  calculated  boyishness,  "and  what 
I  mean  to  say  is,  she's  never  had  a  fair  deal!" 

There  was  a  little  murmur  of  assent  and  admiration 
at  this,  and  only  one  voice  disputed  it. 

"You're  not  called  upon  to  defend  Billy  Brecken- 
ridge, Vivian,"  said  Elinor  Vanderwall,  in  her  cool, 
amused  voice.  "Nobody's  blaming  Billy,  and  Rachael 
Breckenridge  can  stand  on  her  own  feet.  But  what 
we're  saying  is  that  Clarence,  in  spite  of  what  they 
do  to  protect  him,  will  get  himself  dropped  by  de- 
cent people  if  he  goes  on  as  he  is  going  on!  He  was 
tennis  champion  four  or  five  years  ago;  he  played 
against  an  Englishman  named  Waters,  who  was  about 
half  his  age;  it  was  the  most  remarkable  thing  I  ever 
saw " 

"Wonderful  match!"  said  Peter  Pomeroy,  as  she 
paused. 

"Wonderful — I  should  say  so!"  Miss  Vanderwall 
sighed  admiringly  at  the  memory.  "  Do  you  remember 
that  one  set  went  to  nineteen — twenty-one?  Each 
man  won  on  his  own  service — 'most  remarkable  match  I 
ever  saw!  But  Clarence  Breckenridge  couldn't  hold  a 
racket  now,  and  his  game  of  bridge  is  getting  to  be  ab- 
solutely rotten.  Crime,  I  call  it!" 

Vivian  Sartoris  offered  no  further  remark.  Indeed 
she  had  drifted  into  a  low-toned  conversation  with  a 
young  man  on  the  fender.  Elinor  Vanderwall  was 
neither  pretty  nor  rich,  and  she  was  unmarried  at 
thirty-four,  her  social  importance  being  further  lessened 
by  the  fact  that  she  had  five  sisters,  all  unmarried,  too, 
except  Anna,  the  oldest,  whose  son  was  in  college.  Anna 


10  THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL 

was  Mrs.  Prince;  her  wedding  was  only  a  long-ago  mem- 
ory now.  Georgian  a,  who  came  next,  was  a  calm,  plain 
woman  of  thirty-seven,  interested  in  church  work  and 
organized  charities.  Alice  was  musical  and  delicate. 
Elinor  was  worldly,  decisive,  the  social  favorite  among  the 
sisters.  Jeanette  was  boyish  and  brisk,  a  splendid  sports- 
woman, and  Phyllis,  at  twenty-six,  was  still  babyish  and 
appealing,  tiny  in  build,  and  full  of  feminine  charms. 

All  five  were  good  dancers,  good  tennis  and  golf 
players,  good  horsewomen,  and  good  managers.  All 
five  dressed  well,  talked  well,  and  played  excellent 
bridge.  The  fact  of  their  not  marrying  was  an  eternal 
mystery  to  their  friends,  to  their  wiry,  nervous  little 
father,  and  their  large,  fat,  serene  mother;  perhaps  to 
themselves  as  well.  They  met  life,  as  they  saw  it,  with 
great  cleverness,  making  it  a  rule  to  do  little  enter- 
taining at  home,  where  the  preponderance  of  women  was 
most  notable,  and  refusing  to  accept  invitations  except 
singly.  The  Vanderwall  girls  were  rarely  seen  to- 
gether; each  had  her  pose  and  kept  to  it,  each  helped 
the  others  to  maintain  theirs  in  turn.  Alice's  music, 
Georgiana's  altruistic  duties,  these  were  matters  of 
sacred  family  tradition,  and  if  outsiders  sometimes 
speculated  as  to  the  sisters'  sincerity,  at  least  no  Van- 
derwall ever  betrayed  another.  And  despite  their 
obvious  handicaps,  the  five  girls  were  regarded  as  social 
authorities,  and  their  names  were  prominently  displayed 
in  newspaper  accounts  of  all  smart  affairs.  While 
making  a  fine  art  of  feminine  friendships,  they  yet  dif- 
fused a  general  impression  of  being  involved  in  endless 
affairs  of  the  heart.  They  were  much  in  demand  to  fill 
in  bridge  tables,  to  serve  on  club  directorates,  to  amuse 
week-end  parties,  to  be  present  at  house  weddings,  and 
to  remain  with  the  family  for  the  first  blank  day  or  two 
after  the  bride  and  groom  were  gone. 

"Queer  fellow,  Breckenridge,"  said  George  Pomeroy, 
old  Peter's  nephew,  a  red-faced,  florid,  simple  man  of 
forty. 

"Well,  he  never  should  have  married  as  he  did,  it's 


THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL  H 

all  in  a  mess,"  a  woman's  voice  said  lazily.  "Rachael's 
extraordinary  of  course — there's  no  one  quite  like  her. 
But  she  wasn't  the  woman  for  him.  Clarence  wanted 
the  little,  clinging,  adoring  kind,  who  would  put  cracked 
ice  on  his  forehead,  and  wish  those  bad  saloonkeepers 
,  would  stop  drugging  her  dear  big  boy.  Rachael  looks 
right  through  him;  she  doesn't  fight,  she  doesn't  care 
enough  to  fight.  She's  just  supremely  bored  by  his  weak- 
ness and  stupidity.  He  isn't  big  enough  for  her,  either 
in  goodness  or  badness.  I  never  knew  what  she  married 
him  for,  and  I  don't  believe  anyone  else  ever  did!" 

"I  did,  for  one,"  said  Miss  Vanderwall,  flicking  the 
ashes  from  her  cigarette  with  a  well-groomed  fingertip. 
"Clarence  Breckenridge  never  was  in  love  but  once  in 
his  life — no,  I  don't  mean  with  Paula.  I  mean  with 
Billy."  And  as  a  general  nodding  of  heads  confirmed 
this  theory,  the  speaker  went  on  decidedly:  "Since  that 
child  was  born  she's  been  all  the  world  to  him.  When 
he  and  Paula  were  divorced — she  was  the  offender — he 
fretted  himself  sick  for  fear  he'd  done  that  precious 
five-year-old  an  injury.  She  didn't  get  on  with  her 
grandmother,  she  drove  governesses  insane,  for  two  or 
three  years  there  was  simply  no  end  of  trouble.  Finally 
he  took  her  abroad,  for  the  excellent  reason  that  she 
Wanted  to  go.  In  Paris  they  ran  into  Rachael  Fairfax 
and  her  mother — let's  see,  that  was  seven  years  ago. 
Rachael  was  only  about  twenty-one  or  two  then.  But 
she'd  been  out  since  she  was  sixteen.  She  had  the  bel 
air,  she  was  beautiful — not  as  pretty  as  she  is  now,  per- 
haps— and  of  course  her  father  was  dead,  and  Rachael 
was  absolutely  on  the  make.  She  took  both  Clarence 
and  Billy  in  hand.  I  understand  the  child  was  wear- 
ing jewelry  and  staying  up  until  all  hours  every  night. 
Rachael  mothered  her,  and  of  course  the  child  came  to 
admire  her.  The  funny  thing  is  that  Rachael  and  Billy 
hit  it  off  very  well  to  this  day. 

"She  and  Clarence  were  married  quietly,  and  came 
home.  And  I  don't  think  it  was  weeks,  it  was  days 
— and  not  many  days — later,  that  Rachael  realized 


12  THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL 

what  a  fool  she'd  been.  Clarence  had  eyes  for  no  one 
but  the  girl,  and  of  course  she  was  a  fascinating  little 
creature,  and  she's  more  fascinating  every  year." 

"She's  not  as  attractive  as  Rachael  at  that,"  said 
Peter  Pomeroy. 

"I  know,  my  dear  Peter,"  Miss  Vanderwall  assented 
quickly.  "But  Billy's  impulsive,  and  affectionate,  at 
least,  and  Rachael  is  neither.  Anyway,  Billy's  at  the 
age  now  when  she  can't  think  of  anything  but  herself. 
Her  frocks,  her  parties,  her  friends — that's  all  Clarence 
cares  about!" 

"Selfish  ass!"  said  a  man's  voice  in  the  firelight. 

"  I  know  Clarence  takes  Carol  and  her  friends  off  on 
week-end  trips,"  some  woman  said,  "and  leaves  Rachael 
at  home.  If  Rachael  wants  the  car,  she  has  to  ask  them 
their  plans.  If  she  accepts  a  dinner  invitation,  why, 
Clarence  may  drop  out  the  last  moment  because  Carol's 
going  to  dine  alone  at  home  and  wants  her  Daddy." 

"Rachael's  terribly  decent  about  it,"  said  the  deep 
voice  of  old  Mrs.  Torrence,  who  was  chaperoning  a 
grandson,  glad  of  any  excuse  to  be  at  the  club.  "Upon 
m'  word  I  wouldn't  be!  She  will  breakfast  upstairs 
many  a  morning  because  Clarence  likes  Carol  to  pour 
his  coffee.  And  when  that  feller  comes  home  tipsy ' 

"Five  nights  a  week!"  supplemented  Peter  Pomeroy. 

"Five  nights  a  week,"  the  old  lady  agreed,  nodding, 
"she  makes  him  comfortable,  quiets  the  house,  and 
telephones  around  generally  that  Clarence  has  come 
home  with  a  splitting  headache,  and  they  can't  come — • 
to  dinner,  or  cards,  or  whatever  it  may  be.  But  of 
course  I  don't  claim  that  she  loves  him,  nor  pretends  to. 
I  can  imagine  the  scornful  look  with  which  she  goes 
about  it." 

"Well,  why  does  she  stand  it?"  said  Mrs.  Barker 
Emory,  a  handsome  but  somewhat  hard-faced  woman, 
with  a  manner  curiously  compounded  of  eagerness  and 
uncertainty. 

"Y'  know,  that's  what  I've  been  wondering,"  an 
Englishman  added  interestedly. 


THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL  13 

"Why,  what  else  would  she  do?"  Miss  Vanderwall 
asked  briskly. 

"Rachael's  a  perfectly  adorable  and  brilliant  and 
delightful  creature/'  summarized  Peter  Pomeroy, 
"but  she's  not  got  a  penny  nor  a  relative  in  the  world 
that  I've  ever  heard  of!  She's  got  no  grounds  for 
divorcing  Clarence,  and  if  she  simply  wanted  to  get  out, 
why,  now  that  she's  brought  Billy  up,  introduced  her 
generally,  whipped  the  girl  into  some  sort  of  shape  and 
got  her  the  right  sort  of  friends,  I  suppose  she  might 
get  out  and  welcome!" 

"No,  Billy  honestly  likes  her,"  objected  Vivian  Sar- 
toris. 

"She  doesn't  care  for  her  enough  to  see  that  there's 
fair  play,"  Elinor  Vanderwall  said  quickly. 

"Why  doesn't  she  take  a  leaf  from  Paula's  book," 
somebody  suggested,  "and  marry  again?  She  could  go 
out  West  and  get  a  divorce  on  any  grounds  she  might 
choose  to  name." 

"Well,  Rachael's  a  cold  woman,  and  a  hard  woman — • 
in  a  way,"  Miss  Vanderwall  said  musingly,  after  a  pause, 
when  the  troubles  of  the  Breckenridges  kept  the  group 
silent  for  a  moment.  "But  she's  a  good  sport.  She 
gets  a  home,  and  clothes,  and  the  club,  and  a  car  and  all 
the  rest  out  of  it,  and  she  knows  Billy  and  Clarence 
do  need  her,  in  a  way,  to  run  things,  and  to  keep  up 
the  social  end.  More  than  that,  Clarence  can't  keep  up 
this  pace  long — he's  going  to  pieces  fast — and  Billy 
may  marry  any  day " 

"I  understand  Joe  Pickering's  a  little  bit  touched  in 
that  quarter,"  said  Mrs.  Torrence. 

"Yes — well,  Clarence  will  never  stand  for  that" 
somebody  said. 

Little  Miss  Sartoris  neglected  the  Torrence  grandson 
long  enough  to  say  decidedly: 

"  She  wouldn't  look  at  Joe  Pickering !  Joe  drinks,  and 
Billy's  had  enough  of  that  with  her  father.  Besides,  he 
has  no  money  of  his  own!  He's  impossible!" 

"Where's  the  mother  all  this  time?"  asked  the  Eng- 


14  THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL 

lishman.     "I  mean  to  say,  she's  living,  isn't  she,  and  all 
that?" 

"Very  much  alive,"  Miss  Vanderwall  said.  "Mar- 
ried to  an  Italian  count — Countess  Luca  d'  Asafo. 
His  people  have  cut  him  off;  they're  Catholics.  She 
has  two  little  girls;  there's  an  uncle  who's  obliged  to 
leave  property  to  a  son,  and  it  serves  Paula  quite  right, 
I  think.  Where  they  live,  or  what  on,  I  haven't  the 
remotest  idea.  I  saw  her  in  a  car  on  Fifth  Avenue,  not 
so  long  ago,  with  two  heavy  little  black-haired  girls; 
she  looked  sixty." 

•'Her  sister,  you  know,  was  thick  with  my  niece, 
Barbara  Olliphant,"  said  Peter  Pomeroy.  "And  funny 
thing! — when  Barbara  was  married " 

It  was  a  long  story,  and  fortunately  moved  away 
from  the  previous  topic;  so  that  when  it  was  pres- 
ently interrupted  by  the  arrival  of  two  women,  every- 
body in  the  group  had  cause  to  feel  gratitude  for  a 
merciful  deliverance. 

The  two  women  were  Rachael  and  Carol  Brecken- 
ridge,  who  came  in  a  little  breathless,  the  throbbing 
engine  of  their  motor  car  still  sounding  faintly  from  the 
direction  of  the  club  doorway.  Carol,  a  slender,  black- 
eyed,  dusky-skinned  girl  of  seventeen,  took  her  place 
beside  Miss  Sartoris  on  the  fender,  granting  a  brief 
unsmiling  nod  to  one  or  two  friends,  and  eying  the 
group  between  the  loose  locks  of  her  smoky,  cropped 
black  hair  with  the  inscrutable,  almost  brooding,  ex- 
pression that  was  her  favorite  affectation.  Her  lithe, 
loosely  built  little  body  was  as  flat  as  a  boy's,  she 
clasped  her  crossed  knees  with  slender,  satin-smooth 
little  brown  hands,  exposing  by  her  attitude  a  frill  of 
embroidered  petticoat,  a  transparent  stretch  of  ash- 
gray  silk  stocking,  and  smart  ash-gray  buckskin  slippers 
with  silver  buckles. 

She  was  an  effective  little  figure  in  the  mingled 
twilight  and  firelight,  but  it  was  toward  her  beauti- 
ful stepmother  that  everybody  looked  as  Rachael 
Breckenridge  seated  herself  on  the  arm  of  old  Mrs. 


THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL  15 

Torrence's  chair  and  sent  a  careless  greeting  about  the 
circle. 

"Hello,  everybody!"  she  said,  in  a  voice  of  extraor- 
dinary richness  and  sweetness,  "Peter,  Dolly,  Vivian 
— hello,  Elinor !  How  do  you  do,  Mrs.  Emory  ? "  There 
was  an  aside  when  the  newcomer  said  imperatively 
to  a  club  attendant,  "We'll  have  some  light  here, 
please!"  Then  she  resumed  easily:  "I  do  beg  your 
pardon,  Mrs.  Emory,  I  interrupted  you " 

"I  only  said  that  you  were  a  little  late  for  tea,"  said 
Mrs.  Emory,  sweetly,  wishing  with  a  sort  of  futile  rage 
that  she  could  learn  to  say  almost  nothing  when  this 
other  woman,  with  her  insulting  bright  air  of  making 
one  feel  inferior,  was  about.  The  Emory s  had  lived  in 
Belvedere  Hills  for  two  years,  coming  from  Denver 
with  much  money  and  irrefutable  credentials.  They 
had  been  members  of  the  club  perhaps  half  that  time, 
members  in  good  standing.  But  Mrs.  Emory  would 
have  paid  a  large  sum  to  have  Rachael  Breckenridge 
call  her  "Belle,"  and  Rachael  Breckenridge  knew  it. 

The  lights,  duly  poured  in  a  soft  flood  from  all  sides 
of  the  room,  revealed  in  Mrs.  Breckenridge  one  of  those 
beauties  that  an  older  generation  of  diarists  and  letter 
writers  frankly  spelled  with  a  capital  letter  as  distin- 
guishing her  charms  from  those  of  a  thousand  of  lesser 
degree.  When  such  beauty  is  unaccompanied  by  intel- 
lect it  is  a  royal  dower,  and  its  possessor  may  serenely 
command  half  a  century  of  unquestioning  adoration 
from  the  sons  of  men,  and  all  the  good  things  of  life  as 
well. 

But  when  there  is  a  soul  behind  the  matchless  eyes, 
and  a  keen  wit  animates  the  lovely  mouth,  and  when 
the  indication  of  the  white  forehead  is  not  belied,  it 
is  a  nice  question  whether  great  beauty  be  a  gift 
of  benign  or  malicious  fairies.  Not  a  woman  in  this 
room  or  in  any  room  she  entered  could  look  at  Rachael 
Breckenridge  without  a  pang;  her  supremacy  was  be* 
yond  all  argument  or  dispute.  And  yet  there  was 
neither  complacency  nor  content  in  the  lovely  face;  it 


16  THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL 

wore  its  usual  expression  of  arrogant  amusement  at  a 
somewhat  tiresome  world. 

Both  in  the  instant  impression  it  made,  and  under 
closest  analysis,  Rachael  Breckenridge's  beauty  stood 
all  tests.  Her  colorless  skin  was  as  pure  as  ivory,  her 
dark-blue  eyes,  surrounded  by  that  faint  sooty  color 
that  only  Irish  eyes  know,  were  set  far  apart  and  evenly 
arched  by  perfect  brows.  Her  white  forehead  was  low 
and  broad,  the  lustreless  black  hair  was  swept  back 
from  it  with  almost  startling  simplicity,  the  line  of  her 
mouth  was  long,  her  lips  a  living  red.  Her  figure,  as 
she  sat  balancing  carelessly  on  a  chair-arm,  showed  the 
exquisite  curves  of  a  woman  slow  to  develop,  who  is 
approaching  the  height  of  her  beauty,  and  from  the  tip 
of  her  white  shoe  to  the  poppies  on  her  soft  straw  hat 
there  was  that  distinction  in  her  clothing  that  betrayed 
her  to  be  one  of  the  few  who  may  be  always  individual 
yet  always  in  the  fashion.  She  was  a  woman,  quick, 
dynamic,  impatient,  who  vitalized  the  very  atmosphere 
in  which  she  moved,  challenging  life  by  endless  tests 
and  measures,  scornful  of  admiration,  and  ambitious, 
even  in  this  recognized  ambition  of  finding  herself 
beautiful,  prominent,  and  a  rich  man's  wife,  for  some- 
thing further  and  greater,  she  knew  not  what.  She  was 
an  important  figure  in  this  world  of  hers;  her  word 
was  authority,  her  decree  law.  Never  was  censure  so 
quick  as  hers,  never  criticism  so  biting,  or  satire  so 
witty.  No  human  emotion  was  too  sacred  to  form  a 
target  for  her  glancing  arrows,  nor  was  any  affection 
deep  enough  to  arouse  in  her  anything  but  doubt  and 
scorn. 

"I  don't  want  any  tea,  thank  you,  Peter,"  she  said 
now,  in  the  astonishingly  rich  voice  that  seemed  to  fill 
the  words  with  new  meaning.  "And  I  won't  allow  the 
Infant  to  have  any — no,  Billy,  you  shall  not.  You've 
got  a  complexion,  child;  respect  it.  Besides,  you've 
just  had  some.  Besides,  we're  here  for  only  two  sec- 
onds— it's  six  o'clock.  We're  looking  for  Clarence — 
we  seek  a  husband  fond,  a  parent  dear " 


THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL  17 

"Clarence  hasn't  showed  up  here  at  all  to-day/'  said 
Peter  Pomeroy,  stretching  back  comfortably  in  his 
chair,  appreciative  eyes  upon  Clarence's  wife.  "Shame, 
too,  for  we  had  some  good  golf.  Course  is  in  splendid 
condition.  George  beat  me  three  up  and  two  to  play, 
but  I  don't  bear  any  malice.  Here  I  am  signing  for  his 
highball." 

"Well,  then,  we'll  go  on  home,"  Mrs.  Breckenridge 
said,  without,  however,  changing  her  relaxed  position. 
"Clarence  is  probably  there;  we've  been  playing  cards 
at  the  Parmalees',  or  at  least  I  have.  Billy  and  Katrina 
were  playing  tennis  with  Kent  and — who's  the  red- 
headed child  you  were  enslaving  this  afternoon,  Bill?" 

"Porter  Pinckard,"  Miss  Breckenridge  answered, 
indifferently,  before  entering  into  a  confidential  ex- 
change of  brevities  with  Miss  Sartoris. 

"I'll  call  him  out,  and  run  him  through  the  liver," 
said  Peter  Pomeroy,  "the  miserable  catiff!  I'll  brook 
<io  rivals,  Billy." 

Billy  merely  smiled  lazily  at  this;  her  eyes  were  far 
•more  eloquent  than  her  tongue,  as  she  was  well  aware. 

"Let  her  alone,  Fascination  Fledgerby!"  said  Mrs. 
Breckenridge  briskly.  "Why  can't  we  take  you  home 
with  us,  Elinor?  We  go  your  way." 

"You  may,"  said  Miss  Vanderwall,  rising.  "You're 
dining  at  the  Chases',  aren't  you,  Billy?  So  am  I. 
But  I  was  going  to  change  here.  Where  are  you  dining, 
Rachael?" 

"Change  at  my  house,"  Mrs.  Breckenridge  suggested, 
or  rather  commanded.  "I'm  dining  in  my  room,  I 
think.  I'm  all  in."  But  the  clear  and  candid  eyes  de- 
ceived no  one.  Clarence  was  misbehaving  again, 
everybody  decided,  and  poor  Rachael  could  not  bespeak 
five  minutes  of  her  own  time  until  this  particular  period 
of  intemperance  was  over.  Miss  Vanderwall,  settling 
herself  in  the  beautiful  Breckenridge  car  five  minutes 
later,  faced  the  situation  boldly. 

"Where's  Clarence,  Rachael?" 

"I  haven't  the  remotest  idea,  my  dear  woman,"  said 


18  THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL 

i 

Mrs.  Breckenridge  frankly,  yet  with  a  warning  glance 
at  the  back  of  her  stepdaughter's  head.  Billy  was  at 
the  wheel.  "He  didn't  dine  at  home  last  night— 

"But  we  knew  where  he  was,"  Billy  said  quickly, 
ri    1 1*         * 
.half  turning. 

"We  knew  where  he  was,"  agreed  the  older  woman. 
"Watch  where  you're  going,  Bill!  He  told  Alfred  that 
he  was  dining  in  town,  with  a  friend,  talking  business." 

"I  thought  it  was  the  night  of  Berry  Stokes'  dinner," 
suggested  Miss  Vanderwall. 

"He  wasn't  there — I  asked  him  not  to  go,"  said 
Billy. 

"Oh "  Miss  Vanderwall  began  and  then  abruptly 

stopped.  "Oh!"  said  she  mildly,  in  polite  acquies- 
cence. 

They  were  sweeping  through  the  April  roadsides  so 
swiftly  that  it  was  only  a  moment  later  when  Rachael, 
reaching  for  the  door,  remarked  cheerfully,  "Here  we 
.are!" 

The  car  had  entered  a  white  stone  gateway,  and  was 
approaching  a  certain  charming  country  mansion,  one 
that  was  not  conspicuous  among  a  thousand  others 
strewn  over  the  neighboring  hills  and  valleys,  but  a 
beautiful  home  nevertheless.  Vines  climbed  the  brick 
chimneys,  and  budding  hydrangeas,  in  pots,  topped  the 
white  balustrades  of  the  porch.  A  hundred  little  de- 
tails of  perfect  furnishing  would  have  been  taken  for 
granted  by  the  casual  onlooker,  yet  without  its  lawns, 
its  awnings,  its  window  boxes  and  snowy  curtaining, 
its  glimpse  of  screened  veranda  and  wicker  chairs,  its 
trim  assembly  of  garage,  stable,  and  servants'  cottages, 
its  porte-cochere,  sleeping  porches,  and  tennis  court,  it 
would  have  seemed  incomplete  and  uncomfortable  to 
its  owners. 

Rachael  Breckenridge  neither  liked  it  nor  disliked  it. 
It  had  been  her  home  for  the  seven  years  of  her  married 
life,  except  for  the  month  or  two  she  spent  every 
winter  in  a  New  York  hotel.  She  had  never  had  any 


THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL  19 

great  happiness  in  it,  to  be  sure,  but  then  her  life  had 
been  singularly  lacking  in  moments  of  real  happiness, 
and  she  had  valued  other  elements,  and  desired  other  ele- 
ments more.  She  had  not  expected  to  be  happy  in  this 
house,  she  had  expected  to  be  rich  and  envied,  and  se- 
cure, and  she  was  all  of  these  things.  That  they  were 
not  worth  attaining,  no  one  knew  better  than  Rachael 
now. 

The  house  was  of  course  a  great  care  to  her,  the  more 
so  because  Billy  was  in  it  so  little,  and  was  so  frankly 
eager  for  the  time  when  she  should  leave  it  and  go  to  a 
house  of  her  own,  and  because  Clarence  was  absolutely 
indifferent  to  it  in  his  better  moods,  and  pleased  with 
nothing  when  he  was  in  the  grip  of  his  besetting  sin. 
The  Breckenridges  did  little  formal  entertaining,  but  the 
man  of  the  house  liked  to  bring  men  down  from  town  for 
week-end  visits,  and  Billy  brought  her  young  friends  in 
and  out  with  youthful  indifference  to  domestic  regula- 
tions, so  that  on  Rachael,  as  housekeeper,  there  fell  no 
light  burden. 

She  carried  it  gracefully,  knitting  her  handsome  brows 
as  the  seasons  brought  about  their  endless  problems, 
discussing  bulbs  with  old  Rafael  in  the  garden  when  the 
snow  melted,  discussing  paper  and  paint  in  the  first 
glory  of  May,  superintending  the  making  of  iced  drinks 
on  the  hot  summer  afternoons,  and  in  October  filling 
her  woodroom  duly  with  the  great  logs  that  would  blaze 
neglected  in  the  drawing-room  fireplace  all  winter  long. 
The  house  was  not  large,  as  such  houses  go;  top  much 
room  was  wasted  by  a  very  modern  architect  in  linen 
closets  and  coat  closets,  bathrooms  and  hall  space, 
dressing-rooms,  passages,  and  nooks  and  corners  gen- 
erally. Yet  Rachael's  guest-rooms  were  models  in  their 
way,  and  when  she  gave  a  luncheon  the  women  who 
came  were  always  ready  to  exclaim  in  despairing  admi- 
ration over  the  beauty  of  the  gardens,  the  flower-filled, 
airy  rooms,  the  table  appointments,  and  the  hostess  her- 
self. 

But  when  they  said  that  she  was  "wonderful" — and 


20  THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL 

it  was  the  inevitable  word  for  Rachael  Breckenridge — 
the  general  meaning  went  deeper  than  this.  She  was 
wonderful  in  her  pride,  the  dignity  and  the  silence  of 
her  attitude  toward  her  husband;  she  had  been  a  won- 
derful mother  to  Clarence's  daughter;  not  a  loving 
mother,  perhaps — she  was  not  loving  to  anyone — but 
a  miracle  of  determination  and  clearness  of  vision. 

Who  else,  her  friends  wondered,  could  have  cleared 
the  social  horizon  for  Paula  Breckenridge's  daughter  so 
effectively?  With  what  brisk  resoluteness  the  new 
mother  had  cut  short  the  aimless  European  wanderings, 
cropped  the  child's  artificially  curled  hair,  given  away 
the  unsuitable  silk  stockings  and  the  ridiculous  frocks 
and  hats.  Billy,  shorn  and  bewildered,  had  been 
brought  home;  had  entered  Miss  Proctor's  select  school, 
entered  Miss  Roger's  select  dancing  class,  entered  Pro- 
fessor Darling's  expensive  riding  classes.  Billy,  in 
dark-blue  Peter  Thompsons,  in  black  stockings  and 
laced  boots,  had  been  dropped  in  among  other  little 
girls  in  Peter  Thompsons  and  laced  boots,  little  girls 
with  the  approved  names  of  Whittaker  and  Bowditch, 
Moran  and  Merridew  and  Parmalee. 

Billy  had  never  doubted  her  stepmother's  judgment; 
like  all  of  the  new  Mrs.  Breckenridge's  friends,  she  was 
deeply,  dumbly  impressed  with  that  lady's  amazing 
efficiency.  She  had  been  a  spoiled  and  discontented 
little  rowdy.  She  became  an  entirely  self-satisfied 
little  gentlewoman.  Clarence,  jealously  watching  her 
progress,  knew  that  Rachael  was  doing  for  his  daughter 
far  more  than  he  could  ever  do  himself. 

But  Rachael,  if  she  had  expected  reward,  reaped 
none.  Her  husband  was  a  supremely  selfish  man,  and 
his  daughter  inherited  his  sublime  ability  to  protect 
his  own  pleasure  at  any  cost.  Carol  admired  her  step- 
mother, but  she  was  an  indolent  and  luxury-loving  little 
soul,  and  even  as  early  as  her  twelfth  or  fourteenth 
year  she  had  been  deeply  flattered  by  the'  evidences  of 
her  own  power  over  her  father.  Into  her  youthful 
training  no  reverence  for  parents — real  or  adopted — had 


THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL  21 

been  infused;  she  called  her  father  "Clancy,"  as  some  of 
his  intimate  friends  called  him,  and  he  delighted  to  take 
her  orders  and  bow  to  her  pretty  tyranny. 

Before  she  was  sixteen  he  began  to  take  her  about 
with  him:  to  dances,  to  the  theatre,  and  for  long  trips 
in  his  car.  He  entered  eagerly  into  her  young  friend- 
ships, frantic  to  prove  himself  as  young  at  heart  as  she. 
He  paid  her  the  extravagant  compliments  of  a  lover, 
and  gave  her  her  grandmother's  beautiful  jewelry,  as 
well  as  every  trinket  that  caught  her  eye. 

And  Billy  accepted  his  attentions  with  a  finished 
coquetry  that  was  far  from  childlike,  a  flush  on  her 
satin  cheek,  a  dimple  puckering  the  corner  of  her  mouth, 
and  silky  lashes  lowered  over  her  satisfied  eyes.  She 
was  inevitably  precocious  in  many  ways,  but  she  was 
young  enough  still  to  fancy  herself  one  of  the  irresisti- 
ble beauties  and  belles  of  the  world,  and  to  flaunt  a 
perfectly  conscious  arrogance  in  the  eyes  of  all  other 
women. 

All  this  was  bewildering  and  painful  to  Rachael. 
She  had  never  loved  her  husband — love  entered  into 
none  of  her  relationships — her  marriage  had  been  only 
a  step  in  the  steady  progress  of  her  life  toward  the  posi- 
tion she  desired  in  the  world.  But  she  had  liked  him. 
She  had  liked  his  child,  and  she  had  come  into  the  new 
arrangement  kindly  and  gallantly  determined  to  make 
the  venture  at  least  as  profitable  to  them  both  as  it  was 
to  her. 

To  be  ignored,  to  be  deliberately  set  aside,  to  be  in- 
sulted by  a  selfishness  so  calculating  and  so  deliberate 
as  to  make  her  own  attitude  seem  all  warmth  and  gen- 
erosity by  comparison,  genuinely  astonished  her.  At 
first,  indeed,  a  sort  of  magnificent  impatience  had  pre- 
vented her  from  feeling  any  stronger  emotion  than  as- 
tonishment. It  was  too  ridiculous,  said  the  bride  to 
herself  tolerantly;  it  could  not  go  on,  of  course,  this 
preposterous  consideration  of  a  child  of  ten,  this  belit- 
tling consideration  of  her  own  place  in  the  scheme  as 
less  Clarence's  wife  than  Billy's  mother.  It  must  ad- 


n  THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL 

just  itself  with  every  week  that  they  three  lived  to- 
gether, the  child  slipping  back  to  her  own  life,  the 
husband  and  wife  sharing  theirs.  When  Clarence's 
first  fears  for  his  daughter's  comfort  under  the  new  rule 
were  set  at  rest,  when  his  confidence  in  the  wisdom  and 
efficiency  of  his  wife  was  fully  established,  then  a  nor- 
mal relationship  must  ensue.  "  Surely  Clarence  wouldn't 
ask  a  woman  to  marry  him  just  to  give  Billy  a  home  and 
social  backing?"  Rachael  asked  herself,  in  those  first 
puzzled  days  in  Paris. 

That  was  seven  years  ago.  She  knew  exactly  that 
for  truth  now.  Long  ago  she  had  learned  that  what- 
ever impulse  had  moved  Clarence  Breckenridge  to  ask 
her  to  marry  him  was  quickly  displaced  by  his  vision  of 
Billy's  need  as  being  greater  than  his  own. 

It  had  been  an  unpalatable  revelation,  for  Rachael 
was  a  woman  proud  as  well  as  beautiful.  But  pres- 
ently she  had  accepted  the  situation  as  it  stood,  some- 
how fighting  her  way,  as  the  years  went  by,  to  fresh 
acceptances:  the  acceptance  of  Billy's  ripening  charms, 
the  acceptance  of  Clarence's  more  and  more  frequent 
times  of  inebriated  irresponsibility.  Silently  she  made 
her  mental  adjustments,  moving  through  her  gay  and 
empty  life  in  an  unsuspected  bitterness  of  solitude,  won 
to  protest  and  rebellion  only  when  the  cold  surface  she 
presented  to  the  world  was  threatened  from  within  or 
without. 

It  was  distinctly  threatened  now,  she  realized  with  a 
little  sick  twist  of  apprehension  at  heart,  when  her  casual 
inquiry  to  a  maid  upon  entering  was  answered  by  a  dis- 
creet, "Yes,  Mrs.  Breckenridge,  Mr.  Breckenridge  came 
home  half  an  hour  ago.  Alfred  is  with  him." 

This  was  unexpected.  Rachael  did  not  glance  either 
at  her  guest  or  her  stepdaughter,  but  she  disposed  of 
them  both  in  a  breath. 

"Someone  wants  you  on  the  telephone,  Billy,"  she 
repeated  after  the  maid's  information.  "Take  it  in  the 
library.  Run  right  up  to  my  room,  Elinor,  and  I'll  be 


THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL  23 

there  in  two  minutes.  I'll  send  some  one  in  with  towels 
and  brushes;  you've  time  for  a  tub.  Take  these  things, 
Helda,  and  give  them  to  Annie,  and  tell  her  to  lookout 
for  Miss  Vanderwall." 

The  square  entrance  hall  was  sweet  with  flowers  in 
the  early  spring  evening,  Oriental  rugs  were  spread  on 
the  dull  mirror  of  the  floor,  opened  doors  gave  glimpses 
of  airy  colonial  interiors,  English  chintzes  crowded  with 
gay  colored  fruits  and  flowers,  brick  fireplaces  framed 
in  classic  white  and  showing  a  brave  gleam  of  brass 
firedogs  in  the  soft  lamplight.  Not  a  book  on  the  long 
tables,  not  an  etching  on  the  dull  rich  paper  of  the 
walls,  struck  a  false  note.  It  was  all  exquisitely  in 
tone. 

But  Rachael  Breckenridge,  at  best,  saw  less  its  positive 
perfections  than  the  tiniest  opening  through  which  an  im- 
perfection might  push  its  way,  and  in  such  an  hour  as  this 
she  saw  it  not  at  all.  Her  mouth  a  trifle  firm  in  its  outline, 
her  face  a  little  pale,  she  went  quickly  up  the  wide  white 
stairway  and  along  the  open  balcony  above.  There  were 
several  doors  on  this  balcony,  which  was  indeed  the  upper 
hall.  Mrs.  Breckenridge  opened  one  of  them  without 
knocking,  and  closed  it  noiselessly  behind  her. 

The  room  into  which  she  admitted  herself  presented 
exactly  the  picture  she  had  expected.  The  curtains, 
again  of  richly  colored  cretonne,  were  drawn,  a  softly 
toned  lamp  on  the  reading  table,  and  another  beside 
the  bed,  cast  circles  of  pleasant  light  on  the  comfortable 
wicker  chairs,  the  cream-colored  woodwork,  and  the 
scattered  books  and  magazines.  Several  photographs 
of  Carol,  beautifully  framed,  were  on  bookcase  and 
dresser,  and  a  fine  oil  painting  of  the  child  at  fourteen 
looked  down  from  the  mantel.  On  the  bed,  a  mahog- 
any four-poster,  with  carved  pineapples  finishing  the 
posts,  the  frilled  cretonne  cover  had  been  flung  back; 
Mr.  Breckenridge  had  retired;  his  blond  head  was  sunk 
in  the  pillows;  he  clutched  the  blankets  about  him  with 
his  arms,  his  face  was  not  visible, 

A  quiet  manservant,  who  was  by  turns  butler,  chauf* 


24  THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL 

feur,  and  valet,  was  stepping  softly  about  the  room. 
Rachael  interrogated  him  in  a  low  tone: 

"Asleep,  Alfred?" 

"Oh,  no,  ma'am!"  the  man  said  quickly.  "He's 
been  feeling  ill.  He  says  he  has  a  chill." 

"When  did  he  get  home?"  the  wife  asked. 

"About  half  an  hour  ago,  Mrs.  Breckenridge.  Mr. 
Butler  telephoned  me.  Some  of  the  gentlemen  were 
going  on — to  one  of  the  beach  hotels  for  dinner,  I  be- 
lieve, but  Mr.  Breckenridge  felt  himself  too  unwell  to 
join  them,  so  I  went  for  him  with  the  little  car,  and  Mr. 
Joe  Butler  and  Mr.  Parks  came  home  with  him,  Mrs. 
Breckenridge." 

"Do  you  know  if  he  went  to  bed  last  night  at  all?" 

"No,  ma'am,  he  said  he  did  not.     All  the  gentlemen 

looked  as  if  they — looked  as  if  they  might  have ' 

Alfred  hesitated  delicately.     "It  was  Mr.  Berry  Stokes* 
bachelor  dinner,"  he  presently  added. 

At  this  moment  there  was  a  convulsion  in  the  bed, 
and  the  red  face  of  Clarence  Breckenridge  revealed 
itself.  The  eyes  were  bloodstained,  the  usually  pale 
skin  flushed  and  oily,  the  fair,  thin  hair  tumbled  across  a 
high  and  well-developed  forehead.  Rachael  knew  every 
movement  of  the  red  and  swollen  lips,  every  tone  of  the 
querulous  voice. 

"Does  Alfred  have  to  stay  up  here  doing  a  chamber- 
maid's work?"  demanded  the  man  of  the  house  fret- 
fully. "My  God!  Can  you  or  can't  you  manage — 
between  your  teas  and  card  parties — to  get  someone 
else  to  put  this  room  in  order?"  He  ended  in  a  long 
moan,  and  dropped  his  head  again  into  the  pillows. 

"Do  you  know  what  he  wants?"  Rachael  asked  the 
man  in  a  quick  whisper.  "Go  down  and  get  it,  then!" 

"Fm  co-o-old!"  said  the  man  in  the  bed,  going  into 
a  sudden  and  violent  chill.  "I've  caught  my  death,  I 
think.  Joe  made  a  punch — some  sort  of  an  eggnog — 
eggs  were  bad,  I  think.  I'm  poisoned.  The  stuff  was 
rotten!"  He  sank  mumbling  back  into  the  pillows. 

Rachael,  who  had  been  hanging  his  coat  carefully  in 


THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL  25 

the  big  closet  adjoining  his  room,  came  to  the  bedside 
and  laid  her  cool  fingers  on  his  burning  forehead.  If 
irrepressible  distaste  was  visible  in  her  face,  it  was  only 
a  faint  reflection  of  the  burning  resentment  in  her  heart. 

"You've  got  a  fever,  Clarence,"  she  announced 
quietly.  The  answer  was  only  a  furious  and  incoher- 
ent burst  of  denunciation;  the  patient  was  in  utter 
physical  discomfort,  and  could  not  choose  his  terms. 
Rachael — not  for  the  first  nor  the  hundredth  time — 
felt  within  her  an  impulse  to  leave  him  here,  leave 
him  to  outwear  his  miseries  without  her  help.  But 
this  she  could  not  do  without  throwing  the  house  into  an 
uproar.  Clarence  at  these  times  had  no  consideration 
for  public  opinion,  had  no  dignity,  no  self-control.  Much 
better  satisfy  him,  as  she  had  done  so  many  times  before, 
and  keep  a  brave  face  to  the  world. 

So  she  placed  a  hot-water  bag  against  his  cold  feet, 
went  to  her  own  room  adjoining  to  borrow  a  fluffy  satin 
comforter  with  which  to  augment  his  own  bed  covering, 
laid  an  icy  towel  upon  his  throbbing  forehead,  and 
when  Alfred  presently  appeared  with  a  decanter  of 
whisky,  Rachael  watched  her  husband  eagerly  gulp 
down  a  glass  of  it  without  uttering  one  word  of  the 
bitter  protest  that  rose  to  her  lips. 

She  was  not  a  prude,  with  the  sublime  inconsistency 
of  most  women  whose  lives  are  made  the  darker  for 
drink;  she  did  not  identify  herself  with  any  movement 
toward  prohibition,  or  refuse  the  cocktails,  the  claret, 
and  the  wine  that  were  customarily  served  at  her  own 
and  at  other  people's  dinner-tables.  But  she  hated 
coarseness  in  any  form,  she  hated  contact  with  the  sod- 
den, self-pitying,  ugly  animal  that  Clarence  Brecken- 
ridge  became  under  the  influence  of  drink. 

To-night,  when  he  presently  fell  asleep,  somewhat 
more  comfortable  in  body,  and  soothed  in  spirit  by  the 
promise  of  a  visit  from  the  doctor,  Rachael  went  into 
her  own  room  and  sinking  into  a  deep  chair  sat  staring 
stupidly  at  the  floor.  She  did  not  think  of  the  husband 
she  had  just  left,  nor  of  the  formal  dinner  party  being 


26  THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL 

given,  only  half  a  mile  away,  to  a  great  English  novelist 
— a  dinner  to  which  the  Breckenridges  had  of  course 
been  asked  and  upon  which  Rachael  had  weeks  ago  set 
her  heart.  She  was  tired,  and  her  thoughts  floated 
lazily  about  nothing  at  all,  or  into  some  opaque  region 
of  their  own  knowing,  where  the  ills  of  the  body  might 
not  follow. 

Presently  Miss  Vanderwall,  clothed  in  a  trailing  robe 
|  of  soft  Arabian  cotton,  came  briskly  out  of  the  bath- 
room, her  short  dark  hair  hanging  in  a  mane  about  her 
rosy  face. 

f  "Why  so  pensive,  Rachael?"  she  asked  cheerfully, 
pressing  a  button  that  lighted  the  circle  of  globes  about 
the  dressing-table  mirror,  and  seating  herself  before  it. 
But  under  her  loose  locks  she  sent  s  keen  and  concerned 
look  at  her  hostess'  thoughtful  face. 

"Tired,"  Rachael  answered  briefly,  not  changing  her 
attitude,  but  with  a  fleeting  shadow  of  a  smile. 

"How's  Clancy?" 

"Asleep.  He's  wretched,  poor  fellow!  Berry  Stokes* 
bachelor  dinner,  you  know.  That  crowd  is  bad  for  him." 

"I  knew  it  must  have  been  an  orgy!"  Miss  Vander- 
wall declared  vivaciously.  "That  was  a  silly  slip  of 
mine  in  the  car.  Billy  doesn't  know  he  went,  I  sup- 
pose?" 

"No,  he  promised  her  he  wouldn't.  But  everyone 
was  at  the  dinner.  Some  of  them  came  home  early, 
I  believe.  But  it  was  all  kept  quiet,  because  Aline 
Pearsall  is  such  a  little  shrinking  violet,  I  suppose," 
Mrs.  Breckenridge  said.  "The  Pearsalls  are  to  think 
it  was  just  an  impromptu  affair.  Billy  and  Aline  of 
course  have  no  idea  what  a  party  it  was.  But  Clarence 
says  that  poor  Berry  was  worse  than  he,  and  a  few 
of  them  are  still  keeping  it  up.  It's  a  shame,  of 
course " 

Her  uninterested  voice  dropped  into  silence. 

"Men  are  queer,"  Miss  Vanderwall  said  profoundly,, 
busy  with  ivory-backed  brushes,  powders,  and  pastes. 

"The  mystery  to  me — about  men,"   mused  Mrs. 


THE  HEAJRT  OF  RACHAEL  27 

Breckenridge,  her  absent  eyes  upon  the  buckled  slipper 
she  held  in  her  hand,  "is  not  that  they  are  as  helpless  as 
babies  the  moment  anything  goes  wrong  with  their 
poor  little  heads  or  their  poor  little  tummies,  but  that 
they  work  so  hard,  in  spite  of  that,  to  increase  the  gen- 
eral discomfort  of  living.  Women  have  a  great  deal  of 
misery  to  bear,  they  are  brave  or  cowardly  about  it  as 
the  case  may  be,  but  at  least  they  endure  and  renounce 
and  diet  and  keep  early  hours — or  whatever's  to  be  done 
• — they  try  to  lessen  the  sum  of  physical  misery.  But 
men  go  cheerily  on — they  smoke  too  much,  and  eat  too 
much,  and  drink  too  much,  and  they  bring  the  resulting 
misery  sweetly  and  confidently  to  some  woman  to  bear 
for  them.  It's  hopeless!" 

"H'm!"  was  Miss  Vanderwall's  thoughtful  com- 
ment. Presently  she  added  dubiously:  "Did  you  ever 
think  that  another  child  might  make  a  big  difference  to 
Clarence,  Rachael?  That  he  might  come  to  care  for  a 
son  as  he  does  for  Billy,  don't  you  know " 

"Oh,  I  wasn't  speaking  of  Clarence,"  Mrs.  Brecken- 
ridge said  coldly.  And  Elinor,  recognizing  a  false  step, 
winced  inwardly. 

"No,  I  didn't  suppose  you  were!"  she  assented 
hastily. 

"If  there's  one  thing  I  am  thankful  for,"  Rachael 
presently  said  moodily,  "it's  that  I  haven't  a  child. 
I'm  rather  fond  of  kiddies — nice  kiddies,  myself;  and 
Clarence  likes  children,  too.  But  things  are  quite  bad 
enough  now  without  that  complication ! "  She  brushed 
the  loosened  hair  from  her  face  restlessly,  and  sighed. 
"Sometimes,  when  I  see  the  other  girls,"  said  she,  "I 
think  I'd  make  a  rather  good  mother!  However" — 
and  getting  suddenly  to  her  feet,  she  flung  up  her  head 
as  if  to  be  rid  of  the  subject — "however,  my  dear,  we 
shall  never  know!  Don't  mind  me  to-night,  Elinor, 
I'm  in  a  horrible  mood,  it  will  take  nothing  at  all  to  set 
me  off  in  what  Bill  used  to  call  a  regilyer  tant'um!" 

"Tantrum  nothing,"  said  Elinor,  in  eager  sympathy, 
feeling  with  the  greatest  relief  that  she  was  reinstated 


28  THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL 

in  Rachael's  good  graces  after  her  stupid  blunder.  "I 
don't  see  how  you  stand  it  at  all!" 

"It  isn't  the  drinking  and  headaches  and  general 
stupidity  in  themselves,  you  know,"  Rachael  said,  re- 
verting to  her  original  argument,  "but  it's  the  atrocious 
unnecessity  of  it!  I  don't  mind  Clarence's  doing  as 
other  men  do,  I  certainly  don't  mind  his  caring  so  much 
for  his  daughter" — her  fine  brows  drew  together — "but 
where  do  /  come  in?"  she  demanded  with  a  quizzical 
smile.  "What's  my  life?  I  ask  only  decency  and 
civility,  and  I  don't  get  it.  The  very  servants  in  this 
house  pity  me — they  see  it  all.  When  Clarence  isn't 
himself,  he  needs  me;  when  he  is,  he  is  all  for  Billy.  I 
must  apologize  for  breaking  engagements;  people 
ilon't  ask  us  out  any  more,  and  no  wonder!  I  have  to 
coax  money  out  of  him  for  bills;  Billy  has  her  own 
check-book.  I  have  to  keep  quiet  when  I'm  boiling 
all  over.  I  have  to  defend  myself  when  I  know  I'm 
bitterly,  cruelly  wronged ! " 

Neither  woman  had  any  scruples  about  the  subject 
under  discussion,  but  even  to  Elinor  Rachael  had  never 
spoken  so  freely  before,  and  the  guest,  desperately 
attempting  to  remember  every  word  for  the  delectation 
of  her  family  and  friends  later  on,  felt  herself  at  once 
honored  and  thrilled. 

"Rachael — but  why  do  you  stand  it?" 

Mrs.  Breckenridge  threw  her  a  look  full  of  all  con- 
scious forbearance. 

"Well,  what  would  you  do?" 

"Well.  I'd"— Miss  Vanderwall  arrested  the  hand 
with  which  she  was  carefully  spreading  her  lips  with 
red  paste,  to  fling  it,  with  a  large  gesture,  into  the  air— 
"Pa — why  don't  you  get  out?  Simply  drop  it  all?" 
she  asked. 

"For  several  reasons,"  the  other  woman  returned 
promptly  with  a  sort  of  hard,  bright  pride.  "One  very 
excellent  one  is  that  I  haven't  one  penny.  But  I  tell 
you,  Elinor,  if  I  knew  how  to  put  my  hand  on  about  a 
thousand  dollars  a  year — there  are  little  towns  in, 


THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL  29 

France,  I  have  friends  in  London — well" — and  with  a 
sudden  straightening  of  her  whole  body  Rachael  Breck- 
enridge visibly  rallied  herself — "well,  what's  the  use  of 
talking?"  she  said.  But,  as  she  rose  abruptly,  Elinor 
saw  the  glint  of  tears  on  her  lashes,  and  said  to  herself 
with  a  sort  of  pleased  terror  that  things  between  Clarence 
and  Rachael  must  be  getting  serious  indeed. 

She  admired  Mrs.  Breckenridge  deeply;  more  than 
that,  the  younger  woman's  friendship  and  patronage 
were  valuable  assets  to  Miss  Vanderwall.  But  the  social 
circle  of  Belvedere  Hills  was  a  small  circle,  and  Elinor  had 
spent  every  one  of  her  thirty-five  summers,  or  a  part  of 
every  one,  in  just  this  limited  group.  There  was  little 
malice  in  her  pleasure  at  getting  this  glimpse  behind  the 
scenes  in  Rachael'slife;  she  would  repeat  her  friend's  con- 
fidence, later,  with  the  calm  of  a  person  doing  the  ac- 
cepted and  expected  thing,  with  the  complacence  of  one 
who  proves  her  right  to  other  revelations  from  her  lis- 
teners in  turn.  It  was  by  such  proof  judiciously  dis- 
Elayed  that  Elinor  held  her  place  in  the  front  ranks  of 
er  own  select  little  group  of  gossips  and  intimates.  She 
wished  the  Breckenridges  no  harm,  but  if  there  were 
dark  elements  in  their  lives,  Elinor  enjoyed  being  the 
person  to  witness  them.  Thoughtfully  adding  a  bloom 
to  her  cheeks  with  her  friend's  exquisite  powder,  Miss 
Vanderwall  reflected  sagely  that,  when  one  came  to  think 
of  it,  it  must  really  be  rather  rotten  to  be  married  to 
Clarence  Breckenridge. 

Rachael  presently  came  back,  with  the  signs  of  her 
recent  emotion  entirely  effaced,  and  her  wonderful  skin 
glowing  faintly  from  a  bath.  Superbly  independent  of 
cosmetics,  independent  even  of  her  mirror,  she  massed 
the  thick  short  lengths  of  dark  hair  on  the  top  of  her 
head,  thrust  a  jewelled  pin  through  the  coil,  and  began 
to  hook  herself  into  a  lacy  black  evening  gown  that 
was  loose  and  comfortable.  Before  this  was  finished 
her  stepdaughter  rapped  on  the  door,  and  being 
invited,  came  in  with  the  full  self-consciousness  of  seven- 
teen. 


SO  THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL 

r"All  hooked  up  straight?"  asked  Rachael.  "That 
gown  looks  rather  well." 

"Do  you  good  women  realize  what  time  it  is? "Miss 
Breckenridge  asked,  by  way  of  reply. 

"Has  she  got  it  a  shade  too  short?"  speculated 
Rachael,  thoughtful  eyes  on  the  girl's  dress. 

"Well — I  was  wondering!"  Carol  said  eagerly,  fling- 
ing down  her  wrap,  to  turn  and  twist  before  a  door  that 
was  a  solid  panel  of  mirror.  "What  do  you  think — 
we'll  dance." 

"Oh,  not  a  bit,"  Rachael  presently  decided.  "They're 
all  up  to  the  knees  this  year,  anyway.  Car  come 
round?" 

"Long  ago,"  said  Billy,  and  Elinor,  reaching  for  her 
own  wrap,  declared  herself  ready.  "I  wish  you  were 
going,  Rachael,"  the  girl  added  as  she  turned  to  follow 
their  guest  from  the  room. 

"Come  back  here  a  moment,  Bill,"  Mrs.  Brecken- 
ridge said  casually,  seating  herself  at  the  dressing-table 
without  a  glance  at  her  stepdaughter.  For  a  moment 
Miss  Breckenridge  stood  irresolute  in  the  doorway, 
then  she  reluctantly  came  in. 

"  You're  just  seventeen,  Billy,"  said  the  older  woman 
indifferently.  "When  you're  eighteen,  next  March,  I 
suppose  you  may  do  as  you  please.  But  until  then — 
either  see  a  little  less  of  Joe  Pickering,  or  else  come 
right  out  in  the  open  about  it,  and  tell  your  father  you 
want  to  see  him  here.  This  silly  business  of  telephon- 
ing and  writing  and  meeting  him,  here,  there,  and 
everywhere,  has  got  to  stop." 

Billy  stared  steadily  at  her  stepmother,  her  breath 
coming  quick  and  high,  her  cheeks  red. 

"Who  said  I  met  him — places?"  she  said,  in  a 
seventeen-year-old-girl's  idea  of  a  tragic  tone.  Mrs. 
Breckenridge's  answer  to  this  was  a  shrug,  a  smile,  and 
a  motherly  request  not  to  be  a  fool. 

There  was  silence  for  a  moment.  Then  Billy  said 
recklessly: 

"I  like  him.     And  you  can't  make  me  deny  it!" 


THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL  31 

"Like  him  if  you  want  to,"  said  Mrs.  Breckenridge, 
"although  what  you  can  see  in  a  man  twice  your  age — 

with  his  particular  history However,  it's  your 

affair.     But  you'll  have  to  tell  your  father." 

Billy  shut  her  lips  mutinously,  her  cheeks  still 
scarlet. 

"I  don't  see  why!"  she  burst  forth  proudly,  at  last. 

To  this  Mrs.  Breckenridge  offered  no  argument. 
Carefully  filing  a  polished  fingertip  she  said  quietly: 

"I  didn't  suppose  you  would." 

"And  I  think  that  if  you  tell  him  you  interfere  in  a 
matter  that  doesn't  in  the  least  concern  you,"  Billy  pur. 
sued  hotly,  uncomfortably  eager  to  strike  an  answering 
spark,  and  reduce  the  conversation  to  a  state  where 
mutual  concessions  might  be  in  order.  "You  have  no 
business  to!" 

Her  stepmother  was  silent.  She  put  on  a  ring,  re- 
garded it  thoughtfully  on  her  spread  fingers,  and  took 
it  off  again. 

"In  the  first  place,"  Billy  said  sullenly,  "you'll  tell 
him  a  lot  of  things  that  aren't  so!" 

Silence.  Outside  the  motor  horn  sounded  impa- 
tiently. Billy  suddenly  came  close  to  her  stepmother, 
her  dark,  mobile  little  face  quite  transformed  by  anger. 

"You  can  tell  him  what  you  please,"  she  said  in  a 
cold  fury,  "but  I'll  know  why  you  did  it — it's  because 
you're  jealous,  and  you  want  everyone  in  the  world  to 
be  in  love  with  you  !  You  hate  me  because  my  father 
loves  me,  and  you  would  do  anything  in  the  world  to 
make  trouble  between  us!  I've  known  it  ever  since  I 
was  a  little  girl,  even  if  I  never  have  said  it  before! 

I "     She  choked,  and  tears  of  youthful  rage  came 

into  her  eyes. 

"  Don't  be  preposterous,  Bill.  You've  said  it  before, 
every  time  you've  been  angry,  in  the  last  five  years," 
the  older  woman  said  coolly.  "This  only  means  that 
you  will  feel  that  you  have  to  wake  me  up,  when  you 
come  in  to-night,  to  say  that  you  are  sorry." 

"I  will  not!"  said  the  girl  at  white  heat. 


32  THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL 

"Well,  I  hope  you  won't,"  Rachael  Breckenridge  said 
amiably,  "for  if  there  is  one  thing  I  loathe  more  than 
another,  it  is  being  waked  up  for  theatricals  in  the  mid- 
dle of  the  night.  Good-bye.  Be  sure  to  thank  Mrs. 
Bowditch  for  chaperoning  you." 

"Are  you  going  to  speak  to  Clancy?"  the  girl  de- 
manded imperiously. 

"Run  along,  Billy,"  Rachael  said,  with  a  faint  show 
of  impatience.  "Nobody  could  speak  to  your  father 
about  anything  to-night,  as  you  ought  to  know." 

For  a  moment  Billy  stood  still,  breathing  hard  and 
with  tightly  closed  lips,  her  angry  eyes  on  her  step- 
mother. Then  her  breast  rose  on  a  childish,  dry  sob, 
she  dropped  her  eyes,  and  moved  a  shining  slipper-toe 
upon  the  rug  with  the  immortal  motion  of  embarrassed 
youth. 

"You — you  used  to  like  Joe,  Rachael,"  she  said,  after 
a  moment,  in  a  low  tone. 

"I  don't  dislike  him  now,"  Rachael  said  composedly. 

"He's  awfully  kind — and — and  good,  and  Lucy  never 
understood  him,  or  tried  to  understand  him!"  said 
Billy  in  a  burst.  The  other  woman  smiled. 

"If  Joe  Pickering  told  you  any  sentimental  non- 
sense like  that,  kindly  don't  retail  it  to  me,"  she  said 
amusedly. 

In  a  second  Billy  was  roused  to  utter  fury.  Her 
cheeks  blazed,  her  breath  came  short  and  deep.  "I 
hate  you!"  she  said  passionately,  and  ran  from  the 
room. 

Mrs.  Breckenridge  sat  still  for  a  few  moments,  but 
there  was  no  emotion  but  utter  weariness  visible  in  her 
face.  After  a  while  she  said,  "Oh,  Lord!"  in  a  tone 
compounded  of  amusement  and  disgust,  and  rising,  she 
took  a  new  book  from  the  table,  and  went  slowly  down- 
stairs. 

In  the  lower  hall  Alfred  met  her,  his  fat  young  face 
duly  mysterious  and  important  in  expression. 

"Mr.  Breckenridge  got  a  telephone  message  from 
Doctor  Jordan,  Mrs.  Breckenridge;  the  doctor's  been 


THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL  33 

called  into  town  to  a  patient,  so  he  can't  see  Mr.  Breck- 
enridge  to-night." 

"Oh!  Well,  he'll  probably  be  here  in  the  morning," 
Rachael  said  carelessly. 

"Excuse  me,  Mrs.  Breckenridge,  but  Mr.  Brecken- 
ridge  seemed  to  be  a  good  deal  worried  about  himself, 
and  he  had  me  call  Doctor  Gregory,"  the  man  pursued 
respectfully. 

"Doctor  Gregory  !"  echoed  his  mistress,  with  a  laugh 
like  a  wail.  "Alfred,  what  were  you  thinking  of! 
Why  didn't  you  call  me?" 

"He  wouldn't  have  me  call  you,"  Alfred  said  unhap- 
pily. "He  spoke  to  the  doctor  himself.  We  got  the 
housekeeper  first,  and  she  said  Doctor  Gregory  was 
dressing.  'Tell  him  it's  a  matter  of  life  and  death,' 
says  Mr.  Breckenridge.  Then  we  got  him.  'I'm 
dining  out,'  he  says,  'but  I'll  be  there  this  evening." 

"Oh,  dear,  dear,  dear!"  Mrs.  Breckenridge  said  half 
to  herself  in  serio-comic  desperation.  "Gregory — 
called  in  for  a — for  a — for  this!  If  I  could  get  hold  of 
him!  He  didn't  say  where  he  was  dining?" 

"No,  Mrs.  Breckenridge,"  the  man  answered,  with 
,  great  air  of  efficiency. 

"Well,  Alfred,  I  wish  sometimes  you  knew  a  little 
more — or  a  little  less!"  Rachael  said  dispassionately. 
"Light  a  fire  in  the  library,  will  you ?  I'll  have  my  din- 
ner there.  Tell  Ellie  to  send  me  up  something  broiled 
— nothing  messy — and  some  strong  coffee." 


CHAPTER  II 

THE  coffee  was  strong.  Mrs.  Breckenridge  found  it 
soothing  to  rasped  nerves  and  tired  body,  and  after  the 
dinner  things  had  been  cleared  away  she  sat  on  beside  the 
library  fire,  under  the  soft  arc  of  light  from  the  library 
lamp,  sipping  the  stimulating  fluid,  and  staring  at  the 
snapping  and  flashing  logs. 

A  sense  of  merely  physical  well-being  crept  through 
her  body,  and  for  a  little  time  even  her  active  brain 
was  quieter;  she  forgot  the  man  now  heavily  sleeping 
upstairs,  the  pretty  little  tyrant  who  had  rushed  off  to 
dinner  at  the  Chases',  and  the  many  perplexing  elements 
in  her  own  immediate  problem.  She  saw  only  the  quiet 
changes  in  the  fire  as  yellow  flame  turned  to  blue — 
sank,  rose,  and  sank  again. 

The  house  was  still.  Kitchenward,  to  be  sure,  there 
was  a  great  deal  of  cheerful  laughter  and  chatter,  as  Ellie, 
sitting  heavily  ensconced  in  the  largest  rocker,  embroid- 
ered a  centrepiece  for  her  sister's  birthday,  Annie  read 
fortunes  in  the  teacups,  Alfred  imitated  the  supercilious 
manner  of  a  lady  who  had  called  that  afternoon  upon 
Mrs.  Breckenridge,  and  Helda,  a  milk-blond  Dane  with 
pink-rimmed  eyes,  laughed  with  infantile  indiscrimina- 
tion at  everything,  blushing  an  agonized  scarlet  when- 
ever Alfred's  admiring  eye  met  her  own. 

But  the  kitchen  was  not  within  hearing  distance  of 
the  quiet  room  where  Rachael  sat  alone,  and  as  the  soft 
spring  night  wore  on  no  sound  came  to  disturb  her 
revery.  It  was  not  the  first  solitary  evening  she  had 
had  of  late,  for  Clarence  had  been  more  than  usually 
reckless,  and  was  developing  in  his  wife,  although  she 
did  not  realize  it  herself,  a  habit  of  introspection  quite 
foreign  to  her  real  nature. 

34 


THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL  35 

She  had  never  been  a  thoughtful  woman,  her  days 
for  many  years  had  run  brilliantly  on  the  surface  of 
life,  she  knew  not  whence  the  current  was  flowing,  nor 
why,  nor  where  it  led  her;  she  did  not  naturally  ana- 
lyze, nor  dispute  events.  Only  a  few  years  ago  she 
would  have  said  that  to  an  extraordinary  degree  fortune 
had  been  kind  to  her.  She  had  been  born  with  an  ad- 
venturous spirit,  she  had  played  her  game  well  and 
boldly,  and,  according  to  all  the  standards  of  her  type, 
she  had  won.  But  sitting  before  this  quiet  fire,  perhaps 
it  occurred  to  her  to  wonder  how  it  happened  that  there 
were  no  more  hazards,  no  more  cards  left  to  play.  She 
was  caught  in  a  net  of  circumstances  too  tight  for  her 
unravelling.  Truly  it  might  be  cut,  but  when  she  stood 
in  the  loose  wreckage  of  it — how  should  she  use  her 
freedom  ?  If  it  was  a  cage,  at  least  it  was  a  comfortable 
cage;  at  least  it  was  better  than  the  howling  darkness  of 
the  unfamiliar  desert  beyond. 

And  yet  she  raged,  and  her  hurt  spirit  flung  itself 
again  and  again  at  the  bars.  Young  and  beautiful  and 
clever,  how  had  life  tricked  her  into  this  deadlock,  where 
had  been  the  fault,  and  whose? 

For  some  undefined  reason  Rachael  rarely  thought  of 
the  past.  She  did  not  care  to  bring  its  certainties,  its 
panorama  of  blinded  eyes  and  closed  doors  before  her 
mental  vision.  But  to-night  she  found  herself  walking 
again  in  those  old  avenues;  her  thoughts  went  back  to 
the  memories  of  her  girlhood. 

Girlhood?  Her  eyes  smiled,  but  with  the  smile  a 
little  twinge  of  bitterness  drew  down  her  mouth.  What 
a  discontented,  eager,  restless  girlhood  it  had  been, 
after  all.  A  girlhood  eternally  analyzing,  comparing, 
resenting,  envying.  How  she  had  secretly  despised  the 
other  girls,  typical  of  their  class,  the  laughing,  flirting, 
dress-possessed  girls  of  a  small  California  town.  How 
she  had  despised  her  aunts,  all  comfortably  married 
and  prosperous,  her  aunts'  husbands,  her  stodgy,  noisy 
cousins!  And,  for  that  matter,  there  had  never  been 
much  reverence  in  her  regard  for  her  mother,  although, 


36  THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL 

Rachael  loved  that  complaining  little  woman  in  her 
cool  way. 

But  for  her  father,  the  tall,  clever,  unhappy  girl  had  a 
genuine  admiration.  She  did  not  love  him,  no  one  who 
knew  Gerald  Fairfax  well  could  possibly  have  sus- 
tained a  deep  affection  for  him,  but  she  believed  him  to 
be  almost  as  remarkably  educated  and  naturally  gifted 
as  he  believed  himself  to  be.  Her  uncles  were  simply 
country  merchants,  her  mother's  fat,  cheerful  father 
dealt  in  furniture,  and,  incidentally,  coffins,  but  her 
father  was  an  Englishman,  and  naturally  held  himself 
above  the  ordinary  folk  of  Los  Lobos; 

Nobody  knew  much  about  him,  when  he  first  made 
his  appearance  in  Los  Lobos,  this  silky-haired,  round- 
faced,  supercilious  stranger,  in  his  smart,  shabby  Norfolk 
coat,  which  was  perhaps  one  reason  why  every  girl  in 
the  village  was  at  once  willing  to  marry  him,  no  ques- 
tions asked.  His  speech  was  almost  a  different  tongue 
from  theirs;  he  was  thirty-five,  he  had  dogs  and  a  man- 
servant, instead  of  the  usual  equipment  of  mother,  sis- 
ters, and  "hired girl,"  and  he  seemed  eternally  bored  and 
ungracious.  This  was  enough  for  the  Los  Lobos  girls, 
and  for  most  of  their  mothers,  too. 

The  newcomer  bought  a  small  ranch,  three  miles 
out  of  town,  and  lounged  about  it  in  a  highly  edifying 
condition  of  elegant  idleness.  He  rode  a  good  horse, 
drank  a  great  deal,  and  strode  out  of  the  post-office 
once  a  week  scattering  monogrammed  envelopes  care- 
lessly behind  him.  He  had  not  been  long  in  town  be- 
fore people  began  to  say  that  his  elder  brother  was  a 
lord;  a  duke,  Mrs.  Chess  Baxter,  the  postmistress 
said,  because  to  her  question  regarding  the  rumor  he 
had  answered  carelessly:  "Something  of  that  sort." 

Thirty  years  ago  there  were  a  great  many  detached 
Englishmen  in  California,  fourth  and  fifth  sons,  remit- 
tance men,  family  scapegraces  who  had  been  banished 
to  the  farthest  frontier  by  relatives  who  regarded  Cali- 
fornia as  beyond  the  reach  of  gossip,  and  almost  beyond 
the  reach  of  letters.  Checks,  small  but  regular,  arrived 


THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL  37 

quarterly  for  these  gentry,  who  had  only  to  drink, 
sleep,  play  cards,  and  demoralize  the  girls  of  the  coun- 
try. Here  and  there  among  them,  to  be  sure,  were 
pink-skinned  boys  as  fresh  and  sweet  as  the  apple- 
blossoms  under  which  they  rode  their  horses,  but  for 
the  most  part  the  emigrants  were  dissipated,  disen- 
chanted, clinging  loyally  to  the  traditions  of  the  older 
country  that  had  discarded  them,  and  scorning  the 
fragrant  and  inexhaustible  richness  of  the  new  land 
that  had  made  them  welcome.  They  were,  as  a  class, 
silent,  only  voluble  on  the  subject  of  the  despised  coun- 
try of  their  adoption,  and  absolutely  non-committal  as 
to  their  own  histories.  But  far  from  questioning  their 
credentials,  the  women  and  girls  everywhere  accepted 
them  eagerly,  caught  something  of  an  English  accent 
and  something  of  an  English  arrogance. 

So  Clara  Mumford,  a  rose  of  a  girl,  cream-skinned, 
blue-eyed,  and  innocent  with  the  terrible  innocence  of- 
the  village  girlhood  that  feels  itself  so  wise — Clara,  who 
knew,  because  her  two  older  sisters  were  married,  where 
babies  come  from,  and  knew,  because  of  Alt  a  Porter's 
experience,  that  girls — nice  girls,  who  went  with  one 
through  the  high  school — can  yield  to  temptation  and 
be  ruined — Clara  only  felt,  in  shyly  announcing  her  en- 
gagement to  Gerald  Fairfax,  that  Fate  had  been  too 
kind. 

That  this  glittering  stranger  twice  her  age — why, 
he  was  even  a  little  bald — a  man  who  had  travelled, 
who  knew  people  of  title,  knew  books,  and  manners, 
and  languages — that  he  should  marry  an  undertaker's 
daughter  in  Los  Lobos!  It  was  unbelievable.  Clara's 
only  misgiving  during  her  short  engagement  was  that 
he  would  disappear  like  a  dream.  She  agreed  with 
everything  he  said;  even  carrying  her  new  allegiance  to 
the  point  of  laughing  a  little  at  her  own  people:  the 
layer  cakes  her  mother  made  for  the  Sunday  noonday 
dinner;  the  red-handed,  freckled  swain  who  called  on 
her  younger  sister  in  the  crisp,  moonlighted  winter  eve- 
nings; and  the  fact  that  her  father  shaved  in  the  kitchen. 


38  THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL 

A  few  weeks  slipped  by,  and  Clara  duly  confided  her 
youth  and  her  innocence  and  her  roses  to  her  English 
husband,  a  little  ashamed  of  the  wedding  presents  her 
friends  sent  her,  even  a  little  doubtful  of  her  parents' 
handsome  gift  of  a  bird's-eye  maple  bedroom  set  and 
a  parlor  set  in  upholstered  cherry. 

On  her  side  she  accepted  everything  unquestionably: 
the  shabby  little  ranch  house  that  smelled  of  wood 
smoke,  and  tobacco  smoke,  and  dogs;  the  easy  scorn  of 
her  old  friends  on  her  husband's  part  that  so  soon  alien- 
ated her  from  them;  the  drink  that  she  quickly  learned 
to  regard  with  uneasiness  and  distrust.  It  was  not  that 
Jerry  ever  got  really  intoxicated,  but  he  got  ugly,  ex- 
citable, irritable,  even  though  quite  in  control  of  his 
actions  and  his  senses. 

Clara  was  a  good  cook,  although  not  as  expert  as  her 
fond  mother's  little  substitutions  and  innocent  ma- 
nipulations during  their  engagement  had  led  Gerald 
to  believe.  But  she  loved  to  please  him,  and  when 
flushed  and  triumphant  she  put  down  some  especially 
tempting  dish  before  him,  and  felt  his  arm  about  her5 
tears  of  actual  joy  would  stand  in  her  bright  eyes. 
They  had  some  happy  days,  some  happy  hours,  in  the 
first  newness  of  being  together. 

Gerald's  man,  Thomas,  was  an  early  cause  of  annoy- 
ance to  Clara.  She  would  not  have  objected  to  cooking 
for  a  farm  "hand";  that  was  a  matter  of  course  with  all 
good  farmers'  wives.  But  Thomas  was  more  British, 
in  all  that  makes  the  British  objectionable,  than  his 
master,  and  Thomas  was  quite  decidedly  addicted  to 
drink.  He  never  thought  of  wiping  a  dish,  or  bringing 
Clara  in  a  bucket  of  water  from  the  well.  He  ate  what 
she  set  out  upon  the  kitchen  table  for  him,  three  times  a 
day,  chatting  pleasantly  enough  of  the  farm,  the  horses, 
chickens,  and  vegetable  garden,  if  Clara  was  in  an  amia- 
ble mood,  but  if,  busy  at  the  sink,  or  clearing  the  dining- 
room  table,  she  was  inwardly  fuming  with  resentment 
at  his  very  existence,  Thomas  could  be  silent,  too, 
and  would  presently  saunter  away,  stuffing  his  pipe- 


THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL  39 

without  even  the  common  courtesy  of  piling  his  dishes 
together  for  her  washing.  Thomas  held  long  conversa- 
tions with  his  master  as  they  idled  about  the  place; 
Clara  would  hear  their  laughter.  The  manservant  slept 
in  a  small  shed  detached  from  the  main  house,  and 
there  were  times  when  he  did  not  appear  in  the  morning. 
At  such  times  Gerald  with  a  pot  of  strong  coffee 
likewise  disappeared  into  the  cabin. 

"Pore  old  rotter!"  the  husband  would  say  gener- 
ously. "He's  a  decentish  sort,  don't  you  know?  I 
meanter  say,  poor  old  Thomas  did  me  an  awfully  good 
turn  once — and  that!" 

Clara  inferred  from  various  hints  that  Gerald  had 
once  been  in  the  English  army,  and  had  met  Thomas, 
and  befriended  him,  or  been  befriended  by  him,  at  that 
period  of  his  existence.  But,  greatly  to  the  little 
bride's  disappointment,  Gerald  never  spoke  of  his  old 
home  or  his  connections  there.  Clara  had  to  draw 
what  comfort  she  could  from  his  intimation  that  all  his 
relatives  were  unbelievably  eminent  and  distinguished, 
the  least  of  them  superior  in  brain  and  achievement  to 
any  American  who  ever  drew  the  breath  of  life. 

And  presently  she  forgot  Thomas,  forgot  the  petty 
annoyance  of  cooking  and  summer  heat  and  dogs  and 
physical  discomfort,  in  the  overwhelming  prayer  that 
the  coming  child,  about  whose  advent  Gerald,  at  first 
annoyed,  had  later  been  so  generously  good-natured, 
might  prove  a  boy.  Gerald,  living  uncomplainingly 
in  this  dreadful  little  country  town,  enduring  Western 
conditions  with  such  dignity,  and  loving  his  little  wife 
despite  her  undertaker  father,  would  be  seriously  dis- 
gusted, she  knew,  if  she  gave  him  a  daughter. 

"A — a  girl?"  Clara  stammered,  her  wet  eyes  on  the 
doctor's  face,  her  panting  little  figure  lost  in  the  big 
outline  of  her  mother's  spare-room  bed.  She  managed 
a  brave  smile,  but  there  was  a  bitter  lump  in  her  throat. 

A  girl! 

And  she  had  been  so  brave,  so  sweet  with  Jerry,  who 


40  THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL 

had  not  enjoyed  the  three  or  four  days  of  waiting  at  her 
mother's  house;  so  strong  in  her  agonies,  as  became 
the  healthy,  normal  little  country  girl  she  was!  Fate 
owed  her  a  son,  she  had  done  her  share,  she  had  not 
flinched.  And  now — a  girl!  Fresh  tears  of  disap- 
pointment came  to  take  the  place  of  tears  of  pain  in  her 
eyes.  She  remembered  that  Jerry  had  said,  a  few  days 
before,  "It'll  be  a  boy,  of  course — all  the  old  women 
about  seem  to  have  settled  that — and  I  believe  I'll 
cable  Cousin  Harold." 

"Ma  says  it'll  be  a  boy,"  Clara  had  submitted  hope- 
fully, longing  to  hear  more  of  "Cousin  Harold,"  to 
whom  Gerald  alluded  at  long  intervals. 

"Of  course  it  will — good  old  girl!"  Jerry  had  agreed. 
And  that  was  only  Thursday  night,  and  this  was  in  the 
late  dawn  of  cold,  wintry  Saturday  morning. 

Her  mother  bent  over  her  and  kissed  her  wet  forehead. 
Mrs.  Mumford's  big  kind  face  was  radiant;  she  had 
already  four  small  grandsons;  this  was  the  first  grand- 
daughter. More  than  that,  the  nurse  was  not  here 
yet;  she  had  been  supreme  through  the  ordeal;  she  had 
managed  one  more  birth  extremely  well,  and  she  re- 
joiced in  the  making  of  a  nation. 

"Such  a  nice  baby,  darling!"  she  whispered,  "with 
her  dear  little  head  all  covered  with  black  hair!  Neta's 
dressing  her." 

"Where's  Gerald?"  the  young  mother  asked  weakly. 

"Right  here!  I'll  let  him  in  for  a  moment!"  There 
was  a  satisfaction  in  Mrs.  Mumford's  voice;  every- 
thing was  proceeding  absolutely  by  schedule.  "And 
just  as  anxious  to  see  you  as  you  are  to  see  him!" 
she  added  happily.  These  occasions  were  always  the 
same,  and  always  far  more  enjoyable  to  this  practised 
parent  than  any  pageant,  any  opera,  any  social  dis- 
tinction could  have  been.  To  comfortably,  soothingly 
lead  the  trembling  novice  through  the  long  experience, 
to  whisk  about  the  house  capably  and  briskly  busy 
with  the  familiar  paraphernalia,  to  cry  in  sympathy 
with  another's  tears,  to  stand  white-lipped,  impotent, 


THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL  41 

anguished  through  a  few  dreadful  moments,  and  then 
to  laugh,  and  rejoice,  and  reassure,  before  the  happy 
hours  of  resting,  and  feeding,  and  cuddling  began — this 
was  the  greatest  satisfaction  in  her  life. 

Clara,  afraid  in  this  first  moment  to  face  his  disap- 
pointment, felt  in  another  the  most  delicious  reassur- 
ance and  comfort  she  had  known  in  months.  Jerry, 
taking  the  chair  by  the  bedside,  was  so  dear  about  it! 
The  long  night  had  much  impressed  the  new-made 
father.  They  had  had  coffee  at  about  two  o'clock — - 
Clara  remembered  wondering  how  they  could  sit  en- 
joying it,  instead  of  dashing  the  hideous  cups  to  the 
floor,  and  rushing  out  of  the  horrible  enclosure  of  walls 
and  curtains — and  as  he  bent  over  her  she  knew  he  had 
had  something  stronger  since — but  he  was  so  dear! 

"Well,  we've  had  a  night  of  it,  eh?"  he  said  kindly. 
"Funny  how  much  one  takes  the  little  beggars  for 
grawnted  until  it's  one's  own  that  kicks  up  the  row? 
You've  not  seen  her — she's  a  nice  little  beggar.  You 
might  get  some  sleep,  I  should  think.  I'm  going  to 
hang  around  until  some  sort  of  a  family  jamboree  is 
over,  at  one  o'clock — your  mother  insists  that  we  have 
dinner — and  then  I'll  go  out  to  the  rawnch.  But  I'll 
be  in  in  the  morning!" 

"Girl!"  said  Clara,  apologetically,  whimsically,  dep- 
recatingly,  her  weak  fingers  clinging  tightly  to  his. 

"Ah,  well,  one  carn't  help  that!"  he  answered  phil- 
osophically. "We'll  have  a  row  of  jolly  little  chaps 
yet!" 

But  there  was  never  another  child.  Clara,  having 
cast  her  fortunes  in  with  her  lord,  was  faithful  to  him 
through  every  breath  she  drew.  But  before  Rachael's 
first  crying,  feverish  little  summer  was  over  there  had 
been  some  definite  changes  at  the  ranch.  Thomas  was 
gone,  and  Clara,  pale  and  exhausted  with  the  heat,  en- 
gaged Ella,  a  young  woman  servant  of  her  mother's  se- 
lecting, to  bake  and  wash  and  carry  in  stove-wood. 
Clara  managed  them  all,  Gerald,  the  baby,  and  the  maid. 
Perhaps  at  first  she  was  just  a  little  astonished  to  find 


42  THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL 

her  husband  as  easily  managed  as  Ella  and  far  more 
easily  managed  than  Rachael.  Gerald  Fairfax  was  sur- 
prised, too,  lazily  conceding  his  altered  little  wife  her 
new  and  energetic  way  with  a  mental  reservation  that 
when  she  was  strong  and  well  again  and  the  child  less 
a  care,  things  would  be  as  they  were.  But  Clara,  once 
in  power,  never  weakened  for  a  moment  again.  Rachael 
grew  up,  a  solitary  and  unfriendly,  yet  a  tactful  and  dip- 
lomatic, little  person  on  the  ranch.  She  early  devel- 
oped a  great  admiration  for  her  father,  and  a  consequent 
regard  for  herself  as  superior  to  her  associates.  She 
ruled  her  mother  absolutely  from  her  fourth  year,  and 
remained  her  grandmother's  great  favorite  among  a 
constantly  increasing  flock  of  grandchildren.  Some 
innate  pride  and  scorn  and  dignity  in  the  child  won  her 
her  own  way  through  school  and  school  days;  her  young 
cousins  were  bewildered  themselves  by  the  respect  and 
fealty  they  yielded  her  despite  the  contempt  in  which 
they  held  her  affectations. 

Clara  had  never  been  a  religious  woman  and,  married 
to  an  utter  unbeliever,  she  had  little  enough  to  give  a 
child  of  her  own.  But  Clara's  mother  was  a  church 
woman,  and  her  father  a  deeply  religious  man.  It  was 
his  mother,  "old  lady  Mumford" — Rachael's  great- 
grandmother — who  taught  the  child  her  catechism 
whenever  she  could  get  hold  of  that  restless  and  lawless 
little  girl. 

Rachael  had  great  fear  and  respect  for  her  great- 
grandmother,  and  everything  that  was  fine  and  good  in 
the  child  instinctively  responded  to  the  atmosphere  of 
her  little  home.  It  was  an  unpretentious  home,  even 
for  Los  Lobos:  only  a  whitewashed  California  cabin 
with  a  dooryard  full  of  wall  flowers  and  geraniums,  and 
pungent  marigolds,  and  marguerites  that  were  budding, 
blossoming,  and  gone  to  rusty  decay  on  one  and  the 
same  bush.  The  narrow  paths  were  outlined  with  white 
stone  ale-bottles,  turned  upside  down  and  driven  into 
the  soft  ground,  and  under  the  rustling  tent  of  a  lilac 
bush  there  were  three  or  four  clay  pots  filled  with  dry 


THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL  43 

earth.  There  was  a  railed  porch  on  the  east  side  of 
the  house,  with  vines  climbing  on  strings  about  it,  and 
here  the  old  woman,  clean  with  the  wonderful,  cool- 
fingered  cleanness  of  frail  yet  energetic  seventy-five, 
would  sit  reading  in  the  afternoon  shade  that  fell  from 
the  great  shoulders  of  the  blue  mountains. 

Inside  were  three  rooms;  there  was  no  bathroom,  no 
light  but  the  kerosene  lamps  the  old  hands  tended  daily, 
no  warmth  but  the  small  kitchen  stove.  All  the  furni- 
ture was  old  and  shabby  and  cheap,  and  the  antimacas- 
sars and  pictures  and  teacups  old  Mrs.  Mumford 
prized  so  dearly  were  of  no  value  except  for  associa- 
tion's sake.  RachaeFs  great-grandmother  lived  upon 
tea  and  toast  and  fruit  sauce;  sometimes  she  picked  a 
dish  of  peas  in  her  own  garden  and  sometimes  made 
herself  a  rice  pudding,  but  if  her  children  brought  her  in 
'a  chicken  or  a  bowl  of  soup  she  always  gave  it  away  to 
some  poorer  neighbor  who  was  ill,  or  who  was  "nurs- 
ing that  great  strapping  baby." 

She  read  the  Bible  to  Rachael  and  exhorted  the  half- 
believing,  half-ashamed  child  to  lay  its  lessons  to  heart. 

"Your  life  will  be  full  of  change  and  of  pleasure, 
there  will  be  many  temptations  and  much  responsibil- 
ity/' said  the  sweet,  stern,  thin  old  voice.  "Arm 
yourself  against  the  wickedness  of  the  world!" 

Rachael,  pulling  the  old  collie's  silky  ears,  thought 
nothing  of  the  wickedness  of  the  world  but  much  of 
j possible  change  and  pleasure.  She  hoped  her  aged 
relative  was  right;  certainly  one  would  suppose  Granny 
to  be  right  in  anything  she  said. 

The  time  would  have  swiftly  come  when  the  child's 
changing  heart  would  have  found  no  room  for  this 
association,  but  before  Rachael  was  twelve  Granny  was 
gone,  the  little  house,  with  its  few  poor  treasures  shut 
inside  it,  was  closed  and  empty.  And  only  a  year  or 
two  later  a  far  more  important  change  came  into  the 
girl's  life.  She  had  always  disliked  Los  Lobos,  had 
schemed  and  brooded  and  fretted  incessantly  through 
her  childhood.  It  was  with  astonished  delight  that  she 


44  THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL 

heard  that  her  parents,  who  had  never,  in  a  financial 
sense,  drawn  a  free  breath  since  their  marriage,  who 
had  worried  and  contrived,  who  had  tried  indifference 
and  bravado  and  strictest  economy  by  turns,  had  sold 
their  ranch  for  almost  two  thousand  dollars  more  than 
its  accumulated  mortgages,  and  were  going  to  England. 

It  was  a  glorious  adventure  for  Rachael,  even  though 
she  was  too  shrewd  not  to  suspect  the  extreme  hazard 
of  the  move.  She  talked  in  Los  Lobos  of  her  father's 
"people,"  hinted  that  "the  family,  you  know,  thinks 
we'd  better  be  there,"  but  she  knew  in  her  heart  that  a 
few  months  might  find  them  all  beggars. 

Her  father  bought  her  a  loose,  big,  soft  blue  coat  in  San 
Francisco,  and  a  dashing  little  soft  hat  for  the  steamer. 
Rachael  never  forgot  these  garments  throughout  her 
entire  life.  It  mattered  not  how  countrified  the  gown 
under  the  coat,  how  plain  the  shoes  on  her  slender  feet. 
Their  beauty,  their  becomingness,  their  comfort,  actu- 
ally colored  her  days.  For  twenty  dollars  she  was 
transformed;  she  knew  herself  to  be  pretty  and  pictu- 
resque. "That  charming  little  girl  with  the  dark  braids, 
going  to  England,"  she  heard  some  man  on  the  steamer 
say.  The  ranch,  the  chickens,  weeds,  and  preserving, 
the  dusty  roads  and  shabby  stores  of  Los  Lobos  were 
gone;  she  was  no  longer  a  gawky  child;  she  was  a  young 
lady  in  a  loose,  soft,  rough  blue  coat,  with  a  black  quill 
in  her  soft  blue  hat. 

England  received  her  wandering  son  coolly,  but 
Rachael  never  knew  it.  Her  radiant  dream — or  was 
it  an  awakening? — went  on.  Her  mother,  a  neat,  faded, 
querulous  little  woman,  whose  one  great  service  was  in 
sparing  her  husband  any  of  the  jars  of  life,  was  keyed  to 
frantic  anxiety  lest  Jerry  be  unappreciated,  now  that 
he  had  come  back.  Clara  met  the  few  men  to  whom 
her  husband  introduced  her  in  London  with  feverish 
eagerness;  afraid — after  fifteen  years — to  say  one  word 
that  might  suggest  her  own  concern  in  Jerry's  future, 
quivering  to  cross-examine  him,  when  they  were  alone, 
as  to  what  had  been  said,  and  implied,  and  suggested. 


THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL  45 

Nothing  definite  followed.  They  lived  for  a  month 
or  two  at  a  delightful  roomy  boarding-house  in  London, 
where  the  modest  meals  Clara  ordered  appeared  as  if 
by  magic,  and  where  Miss  Fairfax  never  sullied  her 
pretty  hands  with  dishwashing.  Then  they  went  to 
visit  "Aunt  Elsie"  in  a  suburban  villa  for  several 
weeks,  a  visit  Rachael  never  thought  of  afterward 
without  a  memory  of  stuffy,  neat,  warm  rooms,  and  a 
gushing  of  canaries'  voices.  Then  they  went  down  to 
Sussex,  in  the  delicious  fullness  of  spring,  to  live  with 
several  other  persons  in  a  dark  country  house,  where 
"Cousin  Harold"  died,  and  there  was  much  odorous 
crepe  and  a  funeral.  Cousin  Harold  evidently  left 
something  to  Gerald.  Rachael  knew  money  was  not 
an  immediate  problem.  Hot  weather  came,  and  they 
went  to  the  seaside  with  an  efficient  relative  called 
Ethel,  and  Ethel's  five  children.  Later,  back  in  Lon- 
don, Gerald  said,  in  his  daughter's  hearing,  that  he 
had  made  "rather  a  good  thing  of  that  little  game  of 
Bobbie's.  Enough  to  tide  us  over — what?  Especially 
if  the  Dickies  ask  us  down  for  a  bit,"  he  had  added. 
The  Dickies  did  ask  them  down  for  a  bit.  They  went 
other  places.  Gerald  made  a  little  money  on  the 
races,  made  "a  good  thing"  of  this,  and  "turned  a  bit 
over  on  that."  Weeks  made  months  and  months 
years,  and  still  they  drifted  cheerfully  about,  Gerald 
happier  than  he  had  ever  been  in  exile,  Clara  fearful,! 
admiring,  ill  at  ease,  Rachael  in  a  girl's  paradise. 

She  grew  beautiful,  with  a  fine  and  distinguished 
beauty  definite  in  its  appeal;  before  she  was  seven- 
teen she  had  her  little  reputation  for  it;  she  moved 
easily  into  a  circle  higher  than  even  her  father  had 
ever  known.  She  was  witty,  young,  lovely,  and  in  this 
happier  atmosphere  her  natural  gayety  and  generosity 
might  well  develop.  She  went  about  continually,  and 
every  year  the  circle  of  her  friends  was  widened  by  more 
distinguished  names. 

At  seventeen  Mrs.  Gouveneur  Pomeroy  of  New  York 
brought  the  young  beauty  back  with  her  own  daughter. 


46  THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL 

Persis,  for  a  winter  in  the  great  American  city,  and 
when  Persis  died  Rachael  indeed  became  almost  as 
dear  to  the  stricken  parents.  When  she  went  back  to 
London  they  gave  her  not  only  gifts  but  money,  and 
for  two  years  she  returned  to  them  for  long  visits.  So 
America  had  a  chance  to  admire  the  ravishing  Miss 
Fairfax,  too,  and  Rachael  had  many  conquests  and  one 
or  two  serious  affairs.  The  girls  had  their  first  dances 
at  the  Belvedere  Club;  Rachael  met  them  all,  who  were 
later  to  be  her  neighbors:  the  Morans  and  Parmalees, 
the  Vanderwalls  and  the  Torrences,  and  the  Chases. 
She  met  Clarence  Breckenridge  and  his  wife,  and  the 
exquisitely  dressed  little  girl  who  was  Billy  to-day. 

And  through  all  her  adventures  she  looked  calmly, 
confidently,  and  with  conscious  enjoyment  for  a  hus- 
band. She  flirted  a  little,  and  danced  and  swam  and 
drove  and  played  golf  and  tennis  a  great  deal,  but  she 
never  lost  sight  for  an  instant  of  the  serious  business  of 
life.  Money  she  must  have — it  was  almost  as  essential 
to  her  as  air — and  money  she  could  only  secure  through 
a  marriage. 

The  young  Englishman  who  was  her  first  choice,  in 
her  twentieth  year,  had  every  qualification  in  the 
world.  When  he  died,  two  or  three  months  before  the 
wedding-day,  Rachael's  mother  was  fond  of  saying  in 
an  aside  to  close  friends  that  the  girl's  heart  was 
broken.  Rachael,  lovely  in  her  black,  went  down  to 
stay  with  Stephen's  mother,  and  for  several  weeks  was 
that  elderly  lady's  greatest  comfort  in  life.  Silent  and 
serious,  her  manner  the  perfection  of  quiet  grief,  only 
Rachael  herself  knew  how  little  the  memory  of  Stephen 
interfered  with  her  long  reveries  as  she  took  his  collies 
about  in  the  soft  autumn  fogs.  Only  Rachael  knew 
how  the  sight  of  Trecastle  Hall,  the  horses,  the  servants, 
and  the  park  filled  her  heart  with  despair.  She  might 
have  been  Lady  Trecastle!  All  this  might  so  easily 
have  been  her  own! 

She  had  loved  Stephen,  of  course,  she  told  herself; 
loving,  with  Rachael,  simply  meant  a  willingness  to 


THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL  47 

accept  and  to  give.  But  love  was  of  course  a  luxury; 
she  was  after  the  necessities  of  life.  Well,  she  had 
played  and  lost,  but  she  could  play  again.  So  she  went 
to  the  Pomeroys'  for  the  winter,  and  in  the  spring  was 
brought  back  to  London  by  her  father's  sudden 
death. 

Gerald  Fairfax's  life  insurance  gave  his  widow  a  far 
more  secured  income  than  he  had  ever  given  his  wife. 
It  was  microscopic,  to  be  sure,  but  Clara  Fairfax  was 
a  practised  economist.  The  ladies  settled  in  Paris,  and 
Rachael  was  seriously  considering  a  French  marriage 
when,  by  the  merest  chance,  in  the  street  one  day,  a 
small  homesick  girl  clutched  at  her  thin  black  skirt, 
and  sent  her  an  imploring  smile.  Rachael,  looking 
graciously  down  from  under  the  shade  of  her  frilly 
black  parasol,  recognized  the  little  Breckenridge  girl, 
obviously  afflicted  with  a  cold  and  lonesomeness  and 
strangeness.  Enslaving  the  French  nurse  with  three 
perfectly  pronounced  sentences,  Rachael  went  home 
with  the  clinging  Carol,  put  her  to  bed,  cheered  her 
empty  little  interior  with  soup,  soothed  her  off  to  sleep, 
and  was  ready  to  meet  her  crazed  and  terrified  father 
with  a  long  lecture  on  the  care  of  young  children,  when, 
after  an  unavoidable  afternoon  of  business,  he  came 
back  to  his  hotel. 

The  rest  followed.  Rachael  liked  Clarence,  finding 
it  agreeable  that  he  knew  how  to  dress,  how  to  order 
a  dinner,  tip  servants,  and  take  care  of  a  woman  in 
a  crowd.  His  family  was  one  of  the  oldest  in  Amer- 
ica, and  he  was  rich.  She  was  sorry  that  Billy's  mother 
was  living,  but  then  one  couldn't  have  everything, 
and,  after  all,  she  was  married  again,  which  seemed 
to  mitigate  the  annoyance.  Rachael  said  to  herself 
that  this  was  a  wiser  marriage  than  the  proposed 
one  with  poor  Stephen:  Stephen  had  been  a  wild,  ro- 
mantic boy,  full  of  fresh  passion  and  dazed  with 
exultant  dreams;  Clarence  was  a  man,  longing  less 
for  moonshine  and  roses  and  the  presence  of  his  be- 
loved one  than  for  a  gracious,  distinguished  woman 


48  THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL 

who  would  take  her  place  before  the  world  as  mistress 
of  his  home  and  guardian  of  his  child. 

She  had  sometimes  doubted  her  power  to  make 
Stephen  happy — Stephen,  who  talked  with  all  a  boy's 
heavenly  shyness  of  long  days  tramping  the  woods  and 
long  nights  over  the  fire,  of  little  sons  and  daughters 
romping  in  the  Trecastle  gardens;  but  she  entered  into 
her  marriage  with  Clarence  Breckenridge  with  entire 
self-confidence.  She  had  been  struggling  more  or  less 
definitely  all  her  life  toward  just  such  a  position  as  this; 
it  was  a  comparatively  easy  matter  to  fill  it,  now  that 
she  had  got  it. 

Carol  she  considered  a  decided  asset.  The  child 
adored  her,  and  her  services  to  Carol  were  so  mudi 
good  added  to  the  beauty,  charm,  and  wisdom  that  she 
brought  into  the  bargain.  That  Clarence  could  ask 
more  in  the  way  of  beauty,  wisdom,  and  charm  was  not 
conceivable;  Rachael  knew  her  own  value  too  well  to 
have  any  doubts  on  that  score. 

And  had  her  husband  been  a  strong  man,  her  dignified 
and  ripened  loveliness  must  inevitably  have  won  him. 
She  stood  ready  to  be  won.  She  held  to  her  bond  in  all 
generosity.  What  heart  and  soul  and  body  could  do 
for  him  was  his  to  claim.  She  did  not  love  him,  but  she 
did  not  need  love's  glamour  to  show  her  what  her  exact 
value  to  him  might  be;  what  was  her  natural  return  for 
all  her  marriage  gave  her. 

But  quick-witted  and  cold-blooded  as  she  was,  she 
could  not  see  that  Clarence  was  actually  a  little  afraid 
of  her.  He  had  been  top  rich  all  his  life  to  count  his 
money  as  an  argument  in  his  favor,  and  although  he 
was  not  clever  he  knew  Rachael  did  not  love  him,  and 
hardly  supposed  that  she  ever  could. 

He  felt  with  paternal  blindness  that  she  had  married 
him  partly  for  the  child's  sake,  and  returned  to  the 
companionship  of  his  daughter  with  a  real  sense  of 
relief. 

Rachael,  in  turn,  was  puzzled.  Carol  was  unde- 
niably a  pretty  child,  with  all  a  spoiled  child's  confi- 


THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL  49 

dent  charm,  but  in  all  good-natured  generosity  Rachael 
could  not  see  in  her  the  subtle  and  irresistible  fascina- 
tions that  her  father  so  eagerly  exploited.  Surely  no 
girl  of  ten,  however  gifted,  could  be  reasonably  supposed 
to  eclipse  completely  the  woman  Rachael  knew  herself 
to  be;  surely  no  parental  infatuation  could  extend  itself 
to  the  point  of  a  remarriage  with  the  bettering  of  a 
small  child's  position  alone  the  object. 

Philosophy  came  promptly  to  the  aid  of  the  new-made 
wife.  Billy  was  a  child,  and  Clarence  a  greater  child, 
The  situation  was  annoying,  was  belittling  to  her  own 
pride,  but  she  would  meet  it  with  dignity  nevertheless. 
After  all,  the  visible  benefits  of  the  marriage  were  still 
hers:  the  new  car,  the  new  furs,  the  new  and  wonderful 
sense  of  financial  ease,  of  social  certainty. 

She  schooled  herself  to  listen  with  an  indulgent  smile 
to  her  husband's  fond  rhapsodies  about  his  daughter. 
She  agreed  amiably  that  Billy  would  be  a  great  beauty, 
a  heart-breaker,  that  "the  little  monkey  had  all  the 
other  women  crazy  with  jealousy  now,  by  Jove!"  She 
selected  the  little  gowns  and  hats  in  which  the  radiant 
Billy  went  off  for  long  days  alone  with  "Daddy,"  and 
she  presently  graciously  consented  to  share  the  little 
girl's  luxurious  room  because  Billy  sometimes  awak- 
ened nervously  at  night.  Rachael  had  been  accus- 
tomed to  difficulties  in  dealing  with  the  persons  nearest 
her;  she  met  them  resolutely.  Sometimes  a  baffling 
sense  of  failure  smote  the  surface  of  her  life,  like  a  cold 
wind  that  turns  to  white  metal  the  smooth  waters  of  a 
lake,  but  she  held  her  head  proudly  above  it,  and  even 
Clarence  and  his  daughter  never  guessed  what  she 
endured.  What  did  it  matter?  Rachael  asked  herself 
wearily.  She  had  not  asked  for  love.  She  had  reso- 
lutely exchanged  what  she  had  to  give  for  what  she  had 
determined  to  get;  Clarence  had  made  no  blind  protesta- 
tions, had  expected  no  golden  romance.  He  admired 
her;  she  knew  he  thought  it  was  splendid  of  her  to  man- 
age the  engagement  and  marriage  with  so  little  fuss; 
perhaps  his  jaded  pulses  fluttered  a  little  when  Rachael. 


50  THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL 

exquisite  in  her  bridal  newness,  stooped  at  the  railway 
station  to  give  the  drooping  Billy  a  good-bye  kiss,  and 
promise  that  in  three  days  they  would  be  back  to  rescue 
her  from  the  hated  governess;  but  paramount  above  all 
other  emotions,  she  suspected,  was  the  tremendous 
satisfaction  of  having  gained  just  the  right  woman  to 
straighten  out  his  tangled  domestic  affairs,  just  the 
mother,  as  the  years  went  by,  to  do  the  correct  thing 
for  Billy. 

Of  some  of  these  things  the  woman  who  sat  idly  be- 
fore the  library  fire  was  thinking,  as  the  quiet  evening 
wore  on,  and  the  purring  of  the  flames  and  the  ticking 
of  the  little  mantel  clock  accented  rather  than  dis- 
turbed the  stillness.  She  was  unhappy  with  a  cold, 
dry  wretchedness  that  was  deeper  than  any  pang  of 
passion  or  of  hate.  The  people  she  met,  the  books  she 
read,  the  gowns  she  planned  so  carefully,  and  the  social 
events  that  were  her  life,  all — all — were  dust  and  ashes. 
Clarence  was  less  a  disappointment  and  a  shame  to  her 
than  an  annoyance;  he  neglected  her,  he  humiliated  her, 
true,  but  this  meant  infinitely  less  than  that  he  bored 
her  so  mercilessly.  Billy,  with  her  youthful  complacen- 
cies and  arts,  bored  her;  the  sympathy  of  a  few  close 
friends  bored  her  as  much  as  the  admiration  and  envy 
of  the  many  who  were  not  close.  Cards,  golf,  din- 
ners, and  dances  bored  her.  Rachael  thought  to- 
night of  a  woman  she  had  known  closely,  a  beautiful 
woman,  too,  and  a  rich  and  gifted  woman,  who,  not 
many  months  ago,  had  quietly  ended  it  all,  had  been 
found  by  horrified  maids  in  her  gray-and-silver  boudoir 
lovelier  than  ever,  in  fixed  and  peaceful  beauty,  with 
the  soft  folds  of  her  lacy  gown  spreading  like  the  petals 
of  a  great  flower  about  her  and  the  little  gleam  of  an 
empty  bottle  in  her  still,  ringed  hand.  .  .  . 

A  voice  broke  the  library  stillness.  Rachael  roused 
herself. 

"What  is  it,  Helda?"  she  asked.  "Doctor  Gregory? 
Ask  him  to  come  in.  And  ask  Alfred — is  Alfred  still 


THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL  51 

downstairs  ? — ask  him  to  go  up  and  see  if  Mr.  Brecken- 
ridge  is  awake. 

"This  is  very  decent  of  you,  Greg,"  she  said,  a  mo- 
ment later,  as  the  doctor  came  into  the  room.  "It 
doesn't  seem  right  to  interfere  with  your  dinner  for 
the  same  old  stupid  thing!" 

"Great  pleasure  to  do  anything  for  you,  Rachael," 
the  newcomer  said  promptly  and  smilingly  with  the  al- 
most perfunctory  courtesy  that  was  a  part  of  Warren 
Gregory's  stock  in  trade.  "You  don't  call  on  me  often ! 
I  wish  you  did!" 

She  said  to  herself,  as  they  both  sat  down  before  the 
fire,  that  it  was  probably  true.  Doctor  Gregory  was 
notoriously  glad  of  an  opportunity  to  serve  his  friends. 
He  had  not  at  all  regretted  the  necessity  of  leaving  his 
dinner  partner  at  the  salad  for  a  professional  call.  He 
was  quite  ready  to  enjoy  the  Breckenridge  sitting-room, 
the  fire,  the  lamplight,  the  company  of  a  beautiful 
woman.  Rachael  and  he  knew  each  other  well,  almost 
intimately;  they  had  been  friends  for  many  years. 
She  had  often  been  his  guest  at  the  opera,  had  often 
chaperoned  his  dinner-parties  at  the  club,  for  Warren 
Gregory's  only  woman  relative  was  his  old  mother, 
who  was  neither  of  an  age  nor  a  type  to  take  any  part 
in  his  social  life. 

He  was  forty,  handsome,  dignified,  with  touches  of 
gray  in  his  close-clipped  hair,  but  no  other  sign  of  years 
in  his  face  or  his  big,  well-built  figure.  He  had  clever, 
fine  eyes  behind  black-rimmed  glasses,  a  surgeon's  clever 
hands,  a  pleasant  voice.  He  lived  with  his  mother  in  a 
fine  old  house  on  Washington  Square,  in  New  York  City, 
and  worked  as  tirelessly  as  if  he  were  a  penniless  be- 
ginner at  his  profession  instead  of  a  rich  man,  a  rich 
woman's  heir,  and  already  recognized  as  a  genius  in 
his  own  line. 

All  women  liked  him,  and  he  liked  them  all.  He 
sent  them  books,  marked  essays  in  magazines  for  their 
individual  consideration,  took  them  to  concerts,  re- 
membered their  birthdays.  But  his  only  close  friends 


52  THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL 

were  men,  the  men  with  whom  he  played  tennis  and 
golf,  or  with  whom  he  was  associated  in  his  work. 

With  all  his  cleverness  and  all  his  charm,  Warren 
Gregory  was  not  a  romantic  figure  in  the  eyes  of  most 
women.  He  had  inherited  from  his  old  Irish  mother  a 
certain  mildness,  and  a  lenience,  where  they  were  con- 
cerned. He  neither  judged  them  nor  idolized  them. 
They  belonged  only  to  his  leisure  hours.  His  real  life 
was  in  his  club,  in  his  books,  and  in  the  hospital  world 
where  there  were  children's  tiny  bones  to  set.  He 
was  conscious,  as  a  man  born  in  a  different  circle 
always  is  conscious,  that  he  had,  by  a  series  of  pleasant 
chances,  been  pushed  straight  into  the  inner  heart  of 
the  social  group  whose  doors  are  so  resolutely  closed 
to  many  men  and  women,  and  he  liked  it.  His  grand- 
father had  had  blood  but  no  money,  his  mother  money 
but  no  social  claim.  He  inherited,  with  the  O'Connell 
millions,  the  Gregory  name,  and  for  perhaps  ten  years 
he  had  enjoyed  an  unchallenged  popularity.  He  had 
inherited  also,  without  knowing  it,  a  definitely  different 
standard  from  that  held  by  all  the  men  and  women 
about  him.  In  his  simple,  unobtrusive  way  he  held 
aloof  from  much  that  they  said  and  did.  Greg,  said 
the  woman,  was  a  regular  Puritan  about  gossip,  about 
drinking,  about  gambling. 

They  never  suspected  the  truth:  that  he  was  shy. 
Sure  of  his  touch  as  a  surgeon,  pleasantly  definite 
about  books  and  pictures,  spontaneous  and  daring  in 
the  tennis  court  or  on  the  links,  under  his  friendly 
manner  with  women  was  the  embarrassment  of  a  young 
boy. 

Before  his  tenth  year  his  rigidly  conscientious  mother 
had  instilled  into  the  wondering  little-boy  mind  cer- 
tain mysterious  yet  positive  moral  laws.  Purity  and 
self-control  were  in  the  air  he  breathed  while  at  her 
side,  and  although  a  few  years  later  school  and  college 
had  claimed  him,  the  effect  of  those  early  lessons  was 
definite  upon  his  character.  Diffidence  and  a  sort  of 
fear  had  protected  him,  far  more  effectually  than  any 


THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL  53 

other  means  might  have  done,  from  the  common  vices 
of  his  age,  and  in  those  days  a  certain  good-natured 
scorn  from  all  his  associates  made  him  feel  even  more 
than  his  natural  shyness,  and  marked  him  rather  apart 
from  other  young  men. 

Keenly  aware  of  this,  it  had  been  a  tremendous  sur- 
prise to  the  young  physician,  returning  from  post- 
graduate work  in  Germany  a  few  years  later,  to  find 
that  what  had  once  been  considered  a  sort  of  laughable 
weakness  in  him  was  called  strength  of  character  now; 
that  what  had  been  a  clumsy  boy's  inarticulateness 
was  more  charitably  construed  into  the  silence  of  a 
clever  man  who  will  not  waste  his  words;  and  that 
mothers  whose  sons  he  had  once  envied  for  their 
worldly  wisdom  were  turning  to  him  for  advice  as  to  the 
extrication  of  these  same  sons  from  all  sorts  of  difficul- 
ties. 

Being  no  fool,  he  accepted  the  changed  attitude  with 
great  readiness,  devoting  himself  to  his  work  and  his 
mother,  and  pleasantly  conscious  that  he  was  a  success. 
He  let  women  alone,  except  where  music  and  art,  golf 
and  the  club  theatricals  were  the  topic  of  interest,  and, 
consequently,  had  come  to  his  fortieth  year  with  some 
little  awe  and  diffidence  still  left  for  them  in  his  secret 
heart.  Rachael  had  told  him,  not  long  ago,  that  she  be- 
lieved he  took  no  interest  in  women  older  than  fourteen 
and  younger  than  fifty,  and  there  was  some  truth  in  the 
charge.  But  he  was  conscious  to-night  of  taking  a 
distinct  interest  in  her  as  he  sat  down  beside  her 
fire. 

He  had  never  seen  her  so  beautiful,  he  thought. 
She  had  dressed  so  hastily,  so  carelessly,  that  an  utter 
simplicity  enhanced  the  natural  charm.  Her  dark 
hair  was  simply  massed,  her  gown  was  devoid  of  orna- 
ment, her  hands  bare,  except  for  her  wedding-ring. 
On  her  earnest,  exquisite  face  the  occasion  had  stamped 
a  certain  soberness,  she  was  neither  hostess  nor  guest 
to-night;  just  a  heartsick  wife  under  the  shadow  of 
anger  and  shame. 


54  THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL 

"Well,  what  is  it  to-night?"  Warren  Gregory  asked 
kindly. 

"Oh,  the  same  old  thing,  Greg.  The  Berry  Stokes' 
dinner,  you  know!" 

"Shame!"  the  doctor  said  warmly,  touched  by  her 
obvious  depression.  "I'll  go  up.  I  can  give  him  some 
pills.  But  you  know,  he  can't  keep  this  up  forever, 
Rachael.  He's  killing  himself! " 

In  her  sensitive  mood  the  mildly  reproachful  tone 
was  too  much.  RachaeFs  breast  rose,  her  eyes  bright- 
ened angrily. 

"Perhaps  you'll  tell  me  what  more  I  can  do,  Greg!" 

He  looked  at  her  in  surprise;  the  shell  of  Mrs.  Breck- 
enridge's  cool  reserve  was  not  often  pierced. 

"My  dear  girl "  he  stammered.  "Why, 

Rachael :!" 

For  battling  with  a  moment  of  emotion  she  had 
flung  her  beautiful  head  back  against  the  brilliant 
cretonne  of  the  chair,  her  eyes  closed,  her  hands 
grasping  the  chair-arms.  A  tear  slipped  from  under 
her  lids. 

"I  didn't  for  one  second  mean "  he  began  again 

uncomfortably. 

Suddenly  she  straightened  herself  in  her  chair,  and 
opened  her  eyes  widely.  He  saw  her  lovely  breast, 
under  its  filmy  black  chiffon,  rise  stormily.  Her  voice 
was  rich  with  protest. 

"No,  you  didn't  mean  anything,  Greg,  nobody  means 
anything!  Nobody  is  anything  but  sorry  for  me: 
you,  Billy,  Elinor,  the  woman  who  expected  us  at  dinner 
to-night,  the  servants  at  the  club!"  she  said  hotly. 
"Nobody  blames  me,  and  yet  every  one  wonders  how 
it  happens!  Nobody  thinks  it  anything  but  a  little 
amusing,  a  little  shocking.  I  am  to  write  the  notes, 
and  make  the  excuses,  and  be  shamed — and  shamed — 
shamed — 

Her  voice  broke.  She  rose  to  her  feet,  and  rested  an 
elbow  on  the  mantel,  and  stared  moodily  at  the  fire. 
There  was  a  silence, 


THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL  55 

"Rachael,  I'm  sorry!"  Gregory  said  presently,  im- 
pulsively. 

Instantly  her  April  smile  rewarded  him. 

"I  know  you  are,  Greg!"  she  answered  gratefully. 
"And  I  know,"  she  added,  in  a  low  tone,  "that  you  are 
one  of  the  persons  who  will  understand — when  I  end  it 
all!" 

"End  it  all!"  he  echoed  sharply. 

"Not  suicide,"  she  reassured  him  smilingly.  She 
flung  herself  back  in  her  chair  again,  holding  her  white 
hand,  with  its  ring,  between  her  face  and  the  fire. 
"No,"  she  said  thoughtfully,  "I  mean  divorce." 

There  eyes  met;  both  were  pale,  serious. 

"Divorce!"  he  echoed,  after  a  pause.  "I  never 
thought  of  it — for  you ! " 

"I  haven't  thought  of  it  myself,  much,"  Rachael 
admitted,  with  a  troubled  smile. 

As  a  matter  of  fact  she  had  thought  of  it,  since  the 
early  days  of  her  marriage,  but  never  as  an  actual 
possibility.  She  had  preferred  bondage  and  social 
position  to  freedom  and  the  uncomfortable  status  of 
the  divorced  woman.  She  realized  now  that  she  might 
think  of  it  in  a  slightly  different  way.  She  had  been  a 
penniless  nobody  seven  years  ago;  she  was  a  personage 
now.  The  mere  fact  that  he  was  a  Breckenridge  would 
win  some  sympathy  for  Clarence,  but  she  would  have 
her  faction,  too. 

More  than  that,  she  would  never  be  younger,  never , 
handsomer,  never  better  able  to  take  the  plunge,  and 
face  the  consequences. 

"I'm  twenty-eight,  Greg,"  she  said  reasonably,  "I'm 
not  stupid,  I'm  not  plain — don't  interrupt  me!  Is  this 
to  be  my  fate?  I'm  capable  of  loving — of  living — 
I  don't  want  to  be  bored — bored — bored  for  the  rest  of 
my  life!"  | 

Warren  Gregory,  stunned  and  surprised,  eyed  her  5 
sympathetically. 

"  Belvedere  Bay  bore  you? "  he  asked,  smiling  a  little 
uneasily. 


56  THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL 

"No — it's  not  that.  I  don't  want  more  dinners  and 
dances  and  jewels  and  gowns!"  Rachael  answered 
musingly.  She  stared  sombrely  at  the  fire,  and  there 
was  a  moment's  silence. 

Suddenly  her  mood  changed.  She  smiled,  and  lock- 
ing  her  hands  together,  as  she  leaned  far  forward  in 
her  chair,  she  looked  straight  into  his  eyes. 

"Greg,"  she  said,  "do  you  know  what  I'd  like  to  be? 
I'd  like  to  be  far  away  from  cities  and  people,  a  fisher- 
man's wife  on  an  ocean  shore,  with  a  baby  coming 
every  year,  and  just  the  delicious  sea  to  watch !  I  could 
be  a  good  wife,  Greg,  if  anybody  really — loved  me ! " 

Laughing  as  she  looked  at  him,  she  did  not  disguise 
the  fact  that  tears  misted  her  lashes.  Warren  Gregory 
felt  himself  stirred  as  he  had  not  been  before  in  his  life. 

"Well,"  he  said,  with  an  unsteady  laugh,  "you 
could  be  anything!  With  you  for  his  wife,  what 
couldn't  a  man  do!" 

Hardly  conscious  of  what  he  did  or  said,  he  got  to  his 
feet,  and  she  stood,  too,  smiling  up  at  him.  Both  were 
breathing  hard. 

"To  think,"  he  said,  with  a  sort  of  repressed  violence, 
"that  you,  of  all  women,  should  be  Clarence  Brecken- 
ridge's  wife!" 

"Not  long!"  she  answered,  in  a  whisper. 

"You  mean  that  you  are  really  going  to  leave  him, 
Rachael?" 

"I  mean  that  I  must,  Greg,  if  I  am  not  to  go  mad!" 

"And  where  will  you  go  ? "  she  asked. 

"Oh — to  Vera,  to  Elinor."  She  paused,  frowning. 
"Or  away  by  myself,"  she  decided  suddenly.  "Away 
from  them  all!" 

"Rachael,"  he  said  quickly,  "will  you  come  to  my 
mother?" 

Rachael  smiled.     "To  your  mother!" 

He  read  her  incredulity  in  her  voice. 

"But  she  loves  you,"  he  said  eagerly.  "And  she'd 
be — we'd  both  be  so  proud  to  show  people — to  prove — 
that  we  knew  where  the  right  lay!" 


THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL  57 

"My  dear  Don  Quixote,"  she  answered  affection- 
ately, "I  love  you  for  asking  me!  But  I  will  be  better 
alone.  I  must  think,  and  plan.  Fve  made  a  mess 
of  my  life  so  far,  Greg;  I  must  take  the  next  step  care- 
fully!" 

He  was  clinging  to  her  hands  as  she  stood,  in  all  her 
grave  beauty,  before  him. 

"If  I  hadn't  been  such  a  bat,  Rachael,  all  those 
eleven  years  ago!"  he  said,  daringly,  breathlessly. 

"Have  we  known  each  other  so  long,  Greg?" 

"Ever  since  that  first  visit  of  yours  with  little  Persis 
Pomeroy!  And  I  remember  you  so  well,  Rachael.  I 
remember  that  Bobby  Governeur  was  enslaved!" 

"  Dear  old  Bobby !    But  I  don't  remember  you,  Greg ! " 

"Because  I  was  thirty  then,  my  dear,  and  you  were 
seventeen!  I  was  just  home  from  four  years'  work  in 
Germany;  I  was  afraid  of  girls  your  age!" 

"Afraid — of  me  ? "  The  three  words  were  like  a 
caress,  like  holding  her  in  his  arms. 

"I'm  afraid  so!"  he  said,  not  quite  steadily.  "I'm 
afraid  I've  always  liked  you  too  well.  I — I  care — that 
you're  unhappy,  that  you're  unkindly  treated.  I — I — 
wish  I  could  do  something,  Rachael." 

"You  do  do  something,"  she  said,  deeply  stirred  in 
her  turn.  "I'm — you  don't  know  how  fond  I  am  of 
you,  Greg!" 

For  answer  she  felt  his  arms  about  her,  and  for  a 
throbbing  minute  they  stood  so;  Rachael  braced  lightly, 
her  beautiful  breast  rising  and  falling,  her  breath  com- 
ing quickly.  Her  magnificent  eyes,  wide-open,  like  a 
frightened  child's,  were  fixed  steadily  upon  him.  He 
caught  the  fragrance  of  her  hair,  of  her  fresh  skin;  he 
felt  the  softness  and  firmness  of  her  slender  arms. 

"Rachael!"  he  said,  in  a  sharp  whisper.  "Don't — 
don't  say  that — if  you  don't — mean  it!" 

"Greg!"  she  answered,  in  the  same  tone.  "Don't — 
frighten  me!" 

Instantly  she  was  free,  and  he  was  standing  by  the 
fire  with  folded  arms,  looking  at  her. 


58  THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL 

"You  have  missed  love,  and  I  have  missed  it," 
Warren  Gregory  said  presently.  "We'll  be  patient, 
Rachael.  I'll  wait;  we'll  both  wait " 

"Greg!"  she  could  only  answer  still  in  that  stricken 
whisper,  still  pale.  She  stood  just  as  he  had  left  her. 

A  silence  fell  between  them.  The  physician  took 
out  a  cigarette  from  his  gold  case  with  trembling  fingers. 

"I'm  a  little  giddy,  Rachael,"  he  said  after  a  moment. 
"I — on  my  honor  I  don't  know  what's  happened  to  me! 
You're  the  most  wonderful  woman  in  the  world — I've 
always  thought  that — but  it  never  occurred  to  me — - 
the  possibility ' 

He  paused,  confused,  unable  to  find  the  right  words. 

"You've  been  facing  this  all  alone,"  he  continued 
presently.  "Poor  Rachael!  You've  been  splendid — 
wonderfully  brave!  You  have  me  beside  you  now; 
I'll  help  you  if  I  may.  Some  day  we  may  find  a  way 
out!  Well,"  he  finished  abruptly,  "suppose  I  go  up 
and  see  Clarence?" 

For  answer  she  rose,  and  without  speaking  again 
went  ahead  of  him  up  the  stairway  and  left  him  at  the 
door  of  her  husband's  room.  He  did  not  see  her  again 
that  night. 

Half  an  hour  later  he  came  down,  dismissed  his  car, 
and  walked  home  under  the  spring  stars.  In  his  veins, 
like  a  fire,  still  ran  the  excited,  glorious  consciousness 
of  his  madness.  In  his  ears  still  echoed  the  wonderful 
golden  voice;  he  could  hear  her  very  words,  and  he 
took  certain  phrases  from  his  memory,  and  gloated 
over  them  as  another  man  might  have  gloated  over 
strings  of  pearls:  "I'd  like  to  be  far  away  from  cities 
and  people,  a  fisherman's  wife  on  an  ocean  shore  with  a 
baby  coming  every  year  and  just  the  delicious  sea  to 
watch!"  "Greg — don't  frighten  me!" 

Exquisite,  desirable,  enchanting — every  inch  of  her 
— her  voice,  her  eyes,  her  slender  hand  with  its  gold 
circle.  What  a  woman!  What  a  wife!  What  radiant 
youth  and  beauty  and  charm — and  all  trampled  in  the 


THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL  59 

mire  by  Clarence  Breckenridge,  of  all  insensate  brutes! 
How  could  laughter  and  courage  and  beauty  survive  it  ? 

He  was  going  to  the  club,  a  mile  away  from  the 
Breckenridge  house,  but  long  before  the  visions  born 
that  evening  were  exhausted,  he  saw  the  familiar  lights, 
and  the  awninged  porches,  and  heard  the  faint  echoes 
of  the  orchestra.  They  were  dancing. 

Warren  Gregory  turned  away  again,  and  plunged  into 
the  darkness  of  the  roadside  afresh.  "My  dear  Don 
Quixote!"  With  what  a  look  of  motherly  amusement 
and  tenderness  she  had  said  it.  What  a  woman!  He 
had  never  kissed  her.  He  had  never  even  thought  of 
kissing  Clarence  Breckenridge's  wife. 

He  thought  of  his  mother,  tried  to  forget  her  with  a 
philosophical  shrug,  and  found  that  the  slender,  black- 
clad,  quiet-voiced  vision  was  not  to  be  so  easily  dis- 
missed. It  was  said  of  old  Madam  Gregory  that  she 
had  never  been  heard  to  raise  her  voice  in  the  course  of 
her  sixty  honored  years.  Of  the  four  sons  she  had 
borne,  three  were  dead,  and  the  husband  she  had  loved 
so  faithfully  lay  beside  them.  She  was  slightly  crippled, 
her  outings  confined  to  a  slow  drive  every  day.  She 
was  solitary  in  a  retinue  of  servants.  But  that  modu- 
lated voice  and  those  cool,  temperate  eyes  were  still  a 
power.  His  mother's  displeasure  was  a  very  real  thing 
to  Warren  Gregory,  and  the  thought  of  adding  another 
sorrow  to  the  weight  on  those  thin  shoulders  was  not 
an  easy  one  for  him  to  entertain. 

It  would  be  a  sorrow.  Mrs.  Gregory  was  a  rigid 
Catholic,  her  life's  one  prayer  nowadays  was  that  her 
beloved  son  might  become  one,  too.  Her  marriage 
at  seventeen  to  a  non-Catholic  had  been  undertaken  in 
the  firm  conviction  that  faith  like  hers  must  win  the 
conversion  of  her  beloved  James,  the  best,  the  most 
honorable  of  men.  When  her  oldest  son  was  born, 
and  given  his  father's  name,  she  saw,  in  her  husband's 
willingness  to  further  plans  for  the  baptism,  definite 
cause  for  hope.  Another  son  was  born,  there  was  an- 
other christening;  it  was  the  father's  own  hand  that 


60  THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL 

gave  the  third  baby  lay-baptism  only  a  few  moments 
before  the  tiny  life  slipped  back  into  the  eternity  from 
which  it  had  so  lately  come. 

A  year  or  two  later  a  fourth  son  was  born.  Pres- 
ently the  dignified  Mrs.  Gregory  was  taking  a  trio  of 
small,  sleek-headed  boys  to  Sunday-school,  watching 
every  phase  in  the  development  of  their  awakening 
souls  with  terror  and  with  hope.  What  fears  she  suf- 
fered in  spirit  during  those  years  no  one  but  herself 
knew.  Outwardly,  the  hospitable,  gracious  life  of  the 
great  house  went  on;  the  Gregorys  were  prominent  in 
charities,  they  opened  their  mountain  camp  for  the  sum- 
mer, they  travelled  abroad,  they  had  an  audience  with 
the  Pope.  Time  went  on,  and  the  twelve-year-old 
George  was  taken  from  them,  breaking  the  father's 
heart,  said  the  watching  world.  But  there  was  a 
strange  calm  in  the  mother's  eyes  as  they  rested  on  the 
dead  child's  serene  face:  Heaven  had  her  free  offering, 
now  she  must  have  her  reward. 

A  few  months  later  James  Gregory  became  a  convert 
to  her  religion.  Charles,  the  second  son,  had  never 
wavered  from  his  mother's  faith,  and  rejoiced  with  her 
in  this  great  event.  But  the  first-born,  Warren,  as  all 
but  his  mother  called  him,  to  avoid  confusion  with  his 
father,  was  a  junior  in  college  when  these  changes 
took  place,  and  when  he  came  home  for  the  long  vaca- 
tion his  mother  knew  what  her  cross  must  be  for  the 
years  to  come.  He  listened  to  her  with  the  appalling 
silence  of  the  nineteen-year-old  male,  he  kissed  her,  he 
returned  gruff,  embarrassed  answers  to  her  searching 
questions  of  his  soul,  and  he  escaped  from  her  with 
visibly  expanding  lungs  and  averted  eyes.  She  knew 
that  she  had  lost  him. 

Men  called  him  a  good  man,  and  she  assented  with 
dry  lips  and  heavy  eyelids.  Charles  died,  leaving  a 
young  widow  and  an  infant  son,  the  father  shortly  fol- 
lowed, and  Warren  came  home  from  his  interne  year, 
and  was  a  good  son  to  her  in  her  dark  hour.  When 
they  began  to  say  of  him  that  he  would  be  great,  she 


THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL  61 

smiled  sadly.  "My  father  was  a  doctor,"  she  said  once  to 
an  old  friend,  "and  James  inherits  it!"  But  at  a  mem- 
ory of  her  own  father,  erect  and  rosy,  among  his  girls  and 
boys  in  the  family  pew,  she  burst  into  tears.  "I  would 
rather  have  him  with  his  father,  with  George  and 
Charles,  and  with  my  angel  Francis,  than  have  him  the 
greatest  man  that  ever  lived!"  she  said. 

But  if  she  had  not  made  him  a  good  Catholic  she 
had  made  him  a  good  man,  and  it  was  a  fair  and 
honorable  record  that  Warren  Gregory  could  offer  to 
the  woman  he  loved.  Love — it  had  come  to  him  at 
last.  His  thoughts  went  back  to  Rachael.  It  seemed 
to  him  that  he  had  always  known  how  deeply,  how 
recklessly  he  loved  her. 

He  had  a  thrilling  memory  of  her  as  Persis  Pomeroy's 
guest,  years  ago,  an  awkward,  delightful  seventeen- 
year-old,  with  her  hair  in  two  thick  braids,  looped  up 
at  the  neck,  and  tied  with  a  flaring  black  bow.  He 
remembered  watching  her,  hearing  for  the  first  time  the 
delicious  voice  with  its  English  accent:  "Well,  I  should 
say  it  was  indeed!" 

"Well,  I  should  say  it  was  indeed!"  Across  more 
than  ten  years  he  recalled  the  careless,  crisp  little  an- 
swer to  some  comment  from  Persis,  his  first  precious 
memory  of  Rachael.  The  girls,  he  remembered,  were 
supposedly  too  young  for  a  certain  dance  that  was 
imminent,  they  were  opposing  their  youthful  petulance 
— baffled  roses  and  sunshine — to  Mrs.  Pomeroy's  big, 
placid  negatives.  Gregory  could  still  see  the  matron's 
comfortably  shaking  head,  see  Persis  attacking  again 
and  again  like  a  frantic  butterfly,  and  see  "the  little 
English  girl,"  perched  on  the  porch  rail,  looking  from 
mother  to  daughter  smilingly,  with  her  blue,  serious 
eyes. 

Why  had  he  never  thought  of  her  again  until  Clar- 
ence Breckenridge  brought  her  back  with  him,  a  bride, 
six  years  later?  Or,  rather,  having  thought  of  her,  as 
he  undoubtedly  had,  why  had  he  not  found  the  time  to 
cross  the  water  and  go  to  see  her?  Nothing  might 


62  THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL 

have  come  of  it,  true.     But  she  might  have  yielded  to 
him  as  readily  as  to  Clarence  Breckenridge! 

"I  love  her!"  he  said  to  himself,  and  it  seemed 
wonderful,  sad,  and  sweet,  joyous  and  terrible  to  admit 
it.  "I  love  her.  But  she  doesn't  love  me  or  anyone, 
poor  Rachael!  She's  forgotten  me  already!" 


CHAPTER  III 

As  A  matter  of  fact,  Rachael  thought  about  him  very 
often  during  the  course  of  the  next  two  or  three  days, 
and  after  he  had  left  her  that  night  she  could  think  of 
nothing  else.  To  the  admiration  of  men  she  was  cheer- 
fully accustomed;  perhaps  it  would  be  safe  to  say  that 
not  in  the  course  of  the  past  ten  years  had  she  ever 
found  herself  alone  in  a  man's  company  without  evok- 
ing a  more  or  less  definite  declaration  of  his  admiration 
for  her.  But  to-night's  affair  was  a  little  distinctive  for 
several  reasons.  Warren  Gregory  was  a  most  excep- 
tional man,  for  one  thing;  he  was  reputedly  a  cold- 
blooded man,  for  another;  and  for  a  third,  he  had  been 
extraordinarily  in  earnest.  There  had  been  no  hesita- 
tion, he  had  committed  himself  wholeheartedly.  She 
was  conscious  of  a  pleasurable  thrill.  However  gra- 
cious, however  gallant  Warren  was,  there  had  been  no 
social  pretence  in  his  attitude  to-night. 

And  for  a  few  moments  she  let  her  imagination  play 
pleasantly  with  the  situation.  It  was  at  least  a  new 
thought,  and  life  had  run  in  a  groove  for  a  long,  long 
time.  Granted  the  preliminaries  safely  managed,  it 
would  be  a  great  triumph  for  the  woman  whom  Clar- 
ence Breckenridge  had  ignored  to  come  back  into  this 
group  as  Warren  Gregory's  wife. 

Rachael  got  into  bed,  flinging  two  or  three  books 
down  beside  her  pillow  and  lighting  the  shaded  lamp 
that  stood  at  the  bedside.  She  found  herself  unable 
to  read. 

"Wouldn't  Florence  and  Gardner  buzz!"  she  thought 
with  a  smile.  "And  if  they  buzzed  at  the  divorce, 
what  wouldn't  they  say  if  I  really  did  remarry?  But 
the  worst  of  it  is" — and  Rachael  reaching  for  The  Way 

63 


64  THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL 

of  All  Flesh  sighed  wearily — "the  worst  of  it  is  that 
one  never  does  carry  out  plans,  or  /  never  do,  any  more. 
I  used  to  feel  equal  to  any  situation,  now  I  don't — 
getting  old,  perhaps.  I  wonder" — she  stared  dreamily 
at  the  soft  shadows  in  the  big  room — "I  wonder  if  things 
are  as  queer  to  most  people  as  they  are  to  me?  I  don't 
get  much  joy  out  of  life,  as  it  is,  and  yet  I  don't  dare 
cut  loose  and  go  away.  No  maid,  no  club,  living  at 
some  cheap  hotel — no,  I  couldn't  do  that!  I  wish 
there  was  someone  who  could  advise  me — some  disin- 
terested person,  someone  who — well,  who  loved  me, 
and  who  knew  that  I've  always  tried  to  be  decent, 
always  tried  to  play  the  game.  All  I  want  is  to  be 
reasonably  well  treated;  to  have  a  good  time  and  be 
among  pleasant  people " 

Her  thoughts  wandered  about  among  the  various 
friends  whose  judgment  might  serve  at  this  crisis  to 
clear  her  own  thoughts  and  simplify  the  road  before 
her.  Strangely  enough,  Warren  Gregory's  own  mother 
was  the  first  of  whom  she  thought;  that  pure  and  au- 
stere and  uncompromising  heart  would  certainly  find 
the  way.  Whether  Rachael  had  the  courage  to  follow 
it  was  another  question.  She  loved  old  Mrs.  Gregory; 
they  were  good  friends.  But  Rachael  dismissed  her 
with  a  little  shudder,  as  from  the  spatter  of  icy  water 
against  her  bared  breast.  The  bishop?  Rachael  and 
Clarence  duly  kept  a  pew  in  one  of  the  city's  fashionable 
churches;  it  was  the  Breckenridge  family  pew,  rented 
by  the  family  for  a  hundred  years.  But  they  never  sat 
in  it,  although  Rachael  felt  vaguely  sometimes  that  for 
reasons  undefined  they  should,  and  Clarence  was  apt 
in  moments  of  sentiment  to  reproach  his  wife  with  the 
statement  that  his  grandmother  had  been  a  faithful 
church  woman,  and  his  mother  had  always  attended 
church  on  pleasant  mornings  in  winter. 

But  the  bishop  called  on  Rachael  once  a  year,  and 
Rachael  liked  him,  and  mingled  an  air  of  pretty  peni* 
tence  for  past  negligences  with  a  gracious  promise 
of  better  conduct  in  future.  His  Grace  was  a  fine, 


THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL  65 

breezy,  broadminded  man,  polished  in  manner,  sym- 
pathetic, and  tolerant.  He  had  not  risen  to  his  present 
eminence  by  too  harsh  a  rebuke  of  the  sinner. 

His  handsome  young  assistant,  Father  Graves,  as 
he  liked  to  be  called,  was  far  more  radical.  But  a  great 
deal  was  forgiven  this  attractive  boyish  celibate  by 
the  women  of  the  Episcopal  parish.  They  enjoyed  his 
scoldings,  gave  him  their  confidences,  and  asked  his 
advice,  though  they  never  followed  it.  His  slender, 
black-clad  figure,  with  the  Roman  collar,  was  admired 
by  many  bright  eyes  at  receptions  and  church  bazaars. 

Still,  Rachael  could  not  somehow  consider  herself  as 
seriously  asking  either  of  these  two  clergymen  for  advice. 
She  could  see  the  bishop,  fitting  finely  groomed  fingers 
together,  pursing  his  lips  for  a  judicial  reply. 

"My  dear  Mrs.  Breckenridge,  that  Clarence  is  now 
passing  through  a  most  unfortunate,  most  lamentable, 
period  in  his  life  is,  alas,  perfectly  true.  His  mother 
— a  lovely  woman — was  one  of  my  wife's  dearest 
friends,  one  of  my  own.  His  first  marriage  was  much 
against  her  wishes,  poor  dear  lady,  and — as  my  wife 
was  saying  the  other  day — had  she  lived  to  see  him 
happily  married  again,  and  her  grandchild  in  such 

food  hands,  it  could  not  but  have  been  a  great  joy  to 
er.  Yes.  .  .  .  Now,  you  and  I  know  Clarence — 
know  his  good  points,  and  know  his  faults.  That's 
one  of  the  sad  things  about  us  poor  human  beings,  we 
get  to  know  each  other  so  well!  And  isn't  it  equally 
true  that  we're  not  patient  enough  with  each  other? — 
oh,  yes,  I  know  we  try.  But  do  we  try  hard  enough? 
Isn't  there  generally  some  fault  on  both  sides,  quick 
words,  angry,  hasty  actions,  argument  and  blame,  when 
we  say  things  we  don't  mean  and  that  we  are  sure  to 
regret,  eh?  We  all  get  tired  of  the  stupid  round  of 
daily  duty,  and  of  the  people  we  are  nearest  to — that's 
a  sad  thing,  too.  We'd  all  like  a  change,  like  to  see  if 
we  couldn't  do  something  else  better!  And  so  comes 
the  break,  and  the  cloud  on  a  fine  old  name,  and  all 
because  we  aren't  better  soldiers — we  don't  want  to 


66  THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL 

march  in  line!  Bless  me,  don't  I  know  the  feeling  my- 
self? Why,  that  good  little  wife  of  mine  could  tell  you 
some  tales  of  discouragement  and  disenchantment 
;that  would  make  you  open  your  eyes!  But  she  braces 
me  up,  she  puts  heart  into  me — and  the  first  thing  I 
know  I'm  marching  again!" 

And  having  comfortably  shifted  the  entire  trend  of 
the  conversation  from  his  parishioner  to  himself  and 
found  nothing  insurmountable  in  his  own  problem,  the 
good  bishop  would  chuckle  mischievously  at  finding  his 
eminent  self  quite  human  after  all,  and  would  suggest 
their  going  in  to  find  Mrs.  Bishop,  and  having  a  cup  of 
tea.  These  women,  always  restless  and  dissatisfied, 
were  a  part  of  his  work;  he  prided  himself  upon  the 
swiftness  and  tact  with  which  he  disposed  of  them. 

Rachael's  mouth  twisted  wryly  at  the  thought  of 
him.  No,  she  could  not  bare  her  soul  to  the  bishop. 

Nor  could  she  approach  Father  Graves  with  any  real 
hope  of  a  helping  word.  To  seek  him  out  in  his  study — 
that  esthetically  bare  and  yet  beautiful  room,  with  its 
tobacco-brown  hangings  and  monastic  furnishing  in 
black  oak — would  be  to  invite  mischief.  To  sit  there, 
with  her  eloquent  eyes  fixed  upon  his,  her  haunting 
voice  wrapping  itself  about  his  senses,  would  be  a  gen- 
uine cruelty  toward  a  harmless,  well-intentioned  youth 
whose  heroism  in  abjuring  the  world,  the  flesh,  and  the 
devil  had  not  yet  been  great  enough  to  combat  his  su- 
perb and  dignified  egotism.  At  best,  he  would  be  won 
by  Rachael's  revelation  of  her  soul  to  a  long  and  frankly 
indiscreet  talk  of  his  own;  at  worst,  he  would  construe 
her  confidences  in  an  entirely  personal  sense,  and  feel 
that  she  came  not  at  all  to  the  priest  and  all  to  the 
man. 

Dismissing  him  from  her  councils,  Rachael  thought  of 
Florence  Haviland,  the  good  and  kind-hearted  and 
capable  matron  who  was  Clarence's  sister  and  only  near 
relative.  She  and  Florence  had  always  been  good 
friends,  had  often  discussed  Clarence  of  late.  What 
sort  of  advice  would  Florence's  forty-five  years  be  apt 


THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL  67 

to  give  to  Rachael's  twenty-eight?  "Don't  be  so  ab- 
surd, Rachael,  half  the  men  in  our  set  drink  as  much  as 
Clarence  does.  Don't  jump  from  the  frying-pan  into 
the  fire.  Remember  Elsie  Rowland  and  Marian 
Cowles  when  you  talk  so  lightly  of  divorce!" 

That  would  be  Florence's  probable  attitude.  Still, 
it  was  a  bracing  attitude,  heartily  positive,  like  every- 
thing Florence  did  and  said.  And  Florence  was  above 
everything  else  a  church  member,  a  prominent  Chris- 
tian in  her  self-sacrificing  wifehood  and  motherhood, 
her  social  and  charitable  and  civic  work.  She  might  be 
unflattering,  but  she  would  be  right.  Rachael's  last 
conscious  thought,  as  she  went  ofFto  sleep,  was  that  she 
would  take  the  earliest  possible  moment  to  extract  a 
verdict  from  Florence. 

She  went  into  her  husband's  room  at  ten  o'clock 
the  next  morning  to  find  Billy  radiantly  presiding  over 
a  loaded  breakfast  tray,  and  the  invalid,  pale  and 
pasty,  and  with  no  particular  interest  in  food  evinced 
by  the  twitching  muscles  of  his  face,  nevertheless  neatly 
brushed  and  shaved,  propped  up  in  pillows,  and  making 
a  visible  effort  to  appear  convalescent. 

"How  are  you  this  morning?"  Rachael  asked  per- 
functorily, with  her  quick  glance  moving  from  the  books 
on  the  table  to  the  wood  fire  burning  lazily  behind  brass 
firedogs.  Everything  was  in  perfect  order,  Helda's 
touch  visible  everywhere. 

"Fine,"  Clarence  answered,  also  perfunctorily.  His 
coffee  was  untouched,  and  the  cigarette  in  his  long 
holder  had  gone  out,  but  Billy  was  disposing  of  eggsr 
toast,  bacon,  and  cream  with  youthful  zest.  Clar- 
ence's hot,  sick  gaze  rested  almost  with  hostility  upon 
his  wife's  cool  beauty;  in  a  gray  linen  gown,  with  a 
transparent  white  ruffle  turned  back  from  her  white 
throat,  she  looked  as  fresh  as  the  fresh  spring  morning. 

"Headache?"  said  the  nicely  modulated,  indifferent 
voice. 

To  this  solicitude   Clarence   made  no   answer.     A 


68  THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL 

dark,  ugly  look  came  into  his  face,  and  he  turned  his 
eyes  sullenly  and  wearily  away. 

"How  was  the  Chase  dinner,  Bill?^  pursued  the 
cheerful  visitor,  unabashed. 

"Same  old  thing/'  Carol  answered  briefly. 

''You're  not  up  to  the  Perrys'  lunch  to-day,  are  you, 
Clancy?" 

"Oh,  my  God,  no!"  burst  from  the  sufferer. 

"Well,  I'll  telephone  them.  If  Florence  comes  in 
this  morning  Fm  going  to  say  you're  asleep,  so  keep 
quiet  up  here.  Do  you  want  to  see  Greg  again  ? " 

"No,  I  don't!"  said  Clarence,  with  unexpected  vigor. 
"Steer  him  off  if  you  can.  Preaching  at  me  last  night 
as  if  he'd  never  touched  anything  stronger  than  malted 
milk!" 

"I  don't  imagine  I'll  have  much  trouble  steering  him 
off,"  Rachael  said  coldly.  "His  Sundays  are  pretty 
well  occupied  without — sick  calls ! " 

There  was  a  delicate  and  scornful  emphasis  on  the 
word  "sick"  that  brought  the  blood  to  Clarence  Breck- 
enridge's  face.  Billy  flushed,  too,  and  an  angry  light 
flamed  into  her  eyes. 

"That's  not  fair,  Rachael!"  the  girl  said  hotly,  "and 
you  know  it's  not!" 

The  glances  of  the  three  crossed.  Billy  was  breathing 
hard;  Clarence,  shakily  holding  a  fresh  match  to  his 
cold  cigarette,  sent  a  lowering  look  from  daughter  to 
wife.  Rachael  shrugged  her  shoulders. 

"Well,  Pll  have  my  breakfast,"  she  said,  and  turning 
she  went  from  the  room  and  downstairs  to  the  sun- 
shiny breakfast  porch.  There  were  flowers  on  the  little 
round  table,  a  bright  glitter  was  struck  from  silver  and 
glass,  an  icy  grapefruit,  brimming  with  juice,  stood  at 
her  place.  The  little  room  was  all  windows,  and  to-day 
the  cretonne  curtains  had  been  pushed  back  to  show 
the  garden  brave  in  new  spring  green,  the  exquisite 
freshness  of  elm  and  locust  trees  that  bordered  it,  and 
far  away  the  slopes  of  the  golf  green,  with  the  scarlet 
and  white  dots  that  were  early  players  moving  over  it. 


THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL  69 

Sunshine  flooded  the  world,  great  plumes  of  white  and 
purple  lilac  rustled  in  their  tents  of  green  leaves,  a  bee 
blundered  from  the  blossoming  wistaria  vine  into  the 
room,  and  blundered  out  again.  Far  off  Rachael  heard 
a  cock  breaking  the  Sabbath  stillness  with  a  prolonged 
crow,  and  as  the  clock  in  the  dining-room  chimed  one 
silver  note  for  the  half-hour,  the  bells  of  the  church 
in  the  little  village  of  Belvedere  Bay  began  to  ring. 

Of  the  comfort,  the  beauty,  and  the  harmony  of 
all  this,  however,  Rachael  saw  and  felt  nothing.  Her 
brief  interview  with  her  husband  had  left  a  bitter  taste 
in  her  mouth.  She  felt  neither  courage  nor  appetite 
for  the  new  day.  Annie  carried  away  the  blue  bowl  of 
porridge  untouched,  reporting  to  Ellie:  "She  don't 
want  no  eggs,  nor  sausage,  nor  waffles — nothing  more!" 

Ellie,  the  cook,  who  boarded  a  four-year-old  daughter 
with  the  gardener  and  his  wife,  at  the  gate-lodge,  was 
deep  in  the  robust  charms  of  this  young  person,  and  not 
sorry  to  be  uninterrupted. 

"Thank  goodness  she  don't,"  she  said.  "Do  you 
want  a  little  waffle  all  for  yourself,  Lovey?  Do  you 
want  to  pour  the  batter  into  Ma's  iron  yourself?  Pin 
a  napkin  round  her,  Annie!  An*  then  you  can  eat  it 
out  on  the  steps,  darlin',  because  it  just  seems  to  be  a 
shame  to  spend  a  minute  indoors  when  God  sends  us  a 
mornin'  like  this!" 

"It  must  have  been  grand,  walking  to  church  this 
morning,  all  right,"  said  Alfred,  who  was  busy  with  golf 
sticks  and  emery  on  the  vine-shaded  porch. 

"It  was!"  said  Ellie  and  Annie  together,  and  Annie 
added :  "  Rose  from  Bowditch's  was  there,  and  she  says 
she  can't  get  away  but  about  once  a  month.  She  al- 
ways has  to  wait  on  the  children's  breakfast  at  eight, 
and  then  down  comes  the  others  at  half-past  nine,  or 
later,  the  way  she  never  has  a  moment  until  it's  too  late 
for  High!  I  told  her  she  had  a  right  to  look  for  another 
place!" 

"There's  worse  places  than  this,"  Ellie  said,  watch- 
ing her  small  daughter  begin  on  her  waffle.  A  general 


70  THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL 

nodding  of  heads  in  a  contented  silence  indicated  that 
there  was  some  happiness  in  the  Breckenridge  household 
even  though  it  was  below  stairs. 

Rachael's  sombre  revery  was  presently  interrupted 
by  the  smooth  crushing  of  wheels  on  the  pebbled  drive 
and  the  announcement  of  Mrs.  Haviland,  who  followed 
her  name  promptly  into  the  breakfast-room.  A  fine, 
large,  beautifully  gowned  woman,  with  a  prayer  book 
in  her  white-gloved  hand,  and  a  veil  holding  her  close, 
handsome  spring  hat  in  place,  she  glanced  at  the  coffee 
and  hot  bread  with  superiority  only  possible  to  a  per- 
son whose  own  breakfast  is  several  hours  past. 

"Rachael,  you  lazy  woman!"  said  Florence  Havi- 
land lightly,  breathing  deep,  as  a  heavy  womafi  in  tight 
corsets  must  perforce  breathe  on  a  warm  spring  morn- 
ing. "  Do  you  realize  that  it's  almost  eleven  o'clock  ? " 

"Perfectly!"  Mrs.  Breckenridge  said.  "I  slept  until 
nine,  and  felt  quite  proud  of  myself  to  think  that  I  had 
got  through  so  much  of  the  day!" 

Mrs.  Haviland  gave  her  a  sharp  look  in  answer,  not 
quite  disapproving,  yet  far  from  pleased. 

"  I  started  the  girlies  off  to  eight  o'clock  service,"  she 
said  capably.  "Fraulien  went  with  them,  and  that  leaves 
the  maids  free  to  go  when  they  please."  This  was  one 
of  Mrs.  Haviland's  favorite  illusions.  "Gardner  begged 
off  this  morning,  he's  been  so  good  about  going  lately  that 
I  couldn't  very  well  refuse,  so  I  started  early  and  have 
just  dropped  him  at  the  club." 

"Was  Gardner  at  the  Berry  Stokes  bachelor  dinner 
on  Friday  night?"  asked  Rachael.  Mrs.  Haviland  was 
^all  comprehension  at  once. 

"No,  he  couldn't.  Mr.  Payne  of  the  London 
branch  was  here  you  know,  and  Gardner's  been  terri- 
bly tied.  He  left  yesterday,  thank  goodness.  Clar- 
ence went  of  course?  Oh,  dear,  dear,  dear!" 

The  last  three  words  came  on  a  gentle  sigh.  Clar- 
ence's sister  compressed  her  lips  and  shook  her  hand- 
some head 


THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL  71 

"Is  he  very  bad?"  she  asked  reluctantly. 

"Pretty  much  as  usual,"  Rachael  answered  philo- 
sophically. "I  had  Greg  in."  And  suddenly,  unex- 
pectedly, she  felt  a  quick  happy  flutter  at  her  heart, 
and  a  roseate  mist  drifted  before  her  eyes. 

"It's  disgraceful!"  Mrs.  Haviland  said,  eying  Rachael 
hopefully  for  a  wifely  denial.  As  this  was  not  forth- 
coming, she  went  on  briskly:  "However,  my  dear, 
Clarence  isn't  the  only  one!  They  say  Fred  Bowditch 
is  actually" — her  voice  sank  to  a  discreet  undertone 
as  she  added  the  word — "violent;  and  poor  Lucy 
Pickering  needed  a  rest  cure  the  moment  she  got  her 
divorce,  she  was  in  such  a  nervous  state.  I'm  not  de- 
fending Clarence " 

"What  are  you  doing,  then?"  Rachael  asked,  with 
her  cool  smile. 

"Well,  I "  Mrs.  Haviland,  who  had  been  drift- 
ing comfortably  along  on  a  tide  of  words,  stopped,  a 
Jittle  at  a  loss.  "I  hope  I  don't  have  to  defend  your 
own  husband  to  you,  Rachael,"  she  said  reproachfully. 

"  I'm  getting  pretty  tired  of  it,"  said  Rachael  moodily. 

Mrs.  Haviland  watched  the  downcast  beautiful  face 
opposite  her  with  a  sense  of  growing  alarm. 

"My  dear,"  she  said  impressively,  "of  course  it's 
hard  for  you;  we  all  know  that.  But  just  at  this  time, 
Rachael,  it  would  be  absolutely  fatal  to  have  any  open 
break  with  Clarence " 

Rachael  flung  up  her  head  impatiently,  then  dropped 
her  face  in  her  hands. 

"I  don't  want  any  open  break,"  she  muttered. 

"You  do?  Oh,  you  don't?"  Mrs.  Haviland  ques- 
tioned anxiously.  "No,  of  course  you  don't.  He's 
not  himself  now,  for  several  reasons.  For  one — and 
that's  what  I  specially  came  to  speak  to  you  about — for 
one  thing,  he's  terribly  worried  about  Carol.  Carol," 
repeated  Mrs.  Haviland  significantly,  "and  Joe  Pick- 
ering." 

Rachael  raised  sombre  eyes,  but  did  not  speak. 

"Is  Carol  here?"  her  aunt  asked  delicately. 


72  THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL 

"  Dressing,"  Rachael  answered  briefly. 

"Do  you  realize,"  Mrs.  Haviland  said,  "that  every- 
one is  beginning  to  talk  ? " 

"Perfectly,"  Rachael  admitted.  "But  what  do  you 
expect  me  to  do  ? " 

"Something  must  be  done,"  said  the  other  woman 
firmly. 

By  whom?"  Rachael  countered  lightly. 

"Well — by  Clarence,  I  suppose,"  Mrs.  Haviland 
suggested  discontentedly. 

"Clarence!"  Rachael's  tone  was  but  a  scornful 
breath.  Her  glance  toward  the  ceiling  evoked  more 
clearly  than  any  words  a  vision  of  Clarence's  condition 
at  the  moment. 

"Well,  I  suppose  he  can't  do  anything  just  now,  any- 
way," his  sister  conceded  ruefully.  "Can't  you — 
couldn't  you  talk  to  her,  Rachael?" 

"Talk  to  her?"  Mrs.  Breckenridge  smiled  at  some 
memory.  "My  dear  Florence,  you  don't  suppose  I 
haven't  talked  to  her!" 

"Well,  I  suppose  of  course  you  have,"  Mrs.  Haviland 
said  hastily.  "But  my  dear,  it's  dreadful!  People 
are  beginning  to  ask  questions;  a  reporter — we  don't 
know  who  he  was — telephoned  Gardner.  Of  course 
Gardner  hung  up 

"I  can  say  no  more  than  I  have  said,"  Rachael  ob- 
served thoughtfully.  "What  authority  have  I?  Clar- 
ence could  influence  her,  I  think,  but  she  lies  simply 
and  flatly  to  Clarence." 

Mrs.  Haviland  winced  at  the  ugly  word. 

"Joe  drinks,"  Rachael  went  on,  "but  he  doesn't 
drink  as  much  as  her  adored  Daddy  does.  Joe  is  thirty- 
nine  and  Billy  is  seventeen — well,  that's  not  his  fault. 
Joe  is  divorced — well,  but  Carol's  mother  is  living,  and 
Clarence's  second  wife  isn't  exactly  ostracised  by 
society!  A  clergyman  of  your  own  church  married 

Clarence  and  me "     The  little  scornful  twist  of  the 

beautiful  mouth  stung  a  church  woman  conscious  of 
personal  integrity,  and  Mrs.  Haviland  said : 


THE  HEAKT  OF  HACHAEL  73 

"A  great  many  of  them  won't!  The  church  is  going 
to  take  a  stand  in  the  matter.  The  bishops  are  consid- 
ering a  canon. ..." 

Mrs.  Breckenridge  shrugged  her  shoulders  indiffer- 
ently. Theology  did  not  interest  her. 

"And  as  Billy  is  too  young  and  too  blind  to  see  that 
Joe  isn't  a  gentleman,"  she  continued,  "or  to  realize 
that  Lucy  got  her  divorce  against  his  will,  to  believe 
that  her  money  might  well  influence  a  gentleman  of 
Joe's  luxurious  tastes  and  dislike  for  office  work — why, 
I  suppose  they  will  be  married ! " 

"Never!"  said  Florence  Haviland,  with  some  heat 
"Don't!" 

"Unless  Clarence  shoots  him,"  submitted  Rachael. 
A  look  of  intense  anxiety  clouded  Mrs.  Haviland's  eyes. 

"I  believe  he  would,"  she  said,  in  a  wretched  whis- 
per, with  a  cautious  glance  about. 

"He  might,"  his  wife  said  seriously.  "If  ever  it 
comes  to  that,  we  shall  simply  have  to  keep  them  apart. 
You  see  Billy — the  clever  little  devil— 

"Oh,  Rachael,  don't  use  such  words!"  said  the  church 
woman.  "  Father  Graves  was  saying  only  the  other  day 
that  one's  speech  should  be  'yea,  yea'  and — — " 

"I  daresay!"  Mrs.  Breckenridge's  smile  was  indul- 
gent. It  had  been  many  years  since  Florence  had 
succeeded  in  ruffling  her.  "Billy,  then,"  she  resumed, 
"keeps  her  father  happy  in  the  thought  that  he  is  all 
the  world  to  her,  and  that  her  occasional  chats  with 
Joe  are  of  an  entirely  uplifting  and  impersonal  char- 


acter." 


"Impersonal!  Uplifting!"  Mrs.  Haviland  repeated 
indignantly.  "There  wasn't  very  much  uplift  about 
them  the  other  night.  Gardner  and  I  stopped  in  to  see 
if  we  couldn't  take  you  to  the  Hoyts',  but  you'd  gone. 
Carol  had  on  that  flame-colored  dress  of  hers,  her 
hair  was  fluffed  all  over  her  ears  in  that  silly  way  the 
girls  do  now;  Joe  couldn't  take  his  eyes  off  her.  The 
only  light  they  had  in  the  drawing-room  was  the  yellow 
lamp  and  the  fire;  it  was  the  coziest  thing  I  ever  saw!" 


74  THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL 

"Vivvy  Sartoris  was  here!"  Rachael  said  quickly. 

"Don't  you  believe  it,  my  dear!"  Mrs.  Haviland  re« 
turned  triumphantly.  "Carol  was  very  demure, 
'Tante'  this  and  'Tante'  that,  but  I  knew  right  away 
that  something  was  amiss!  'Oh/  I  said  right  out 
flatly,  'are  you  alone  here,  Carol?'  and  she  answered 
very  prettily:  'Vivian  was  to  be  here,  but  she  hasn't 
come  yet!'  This  was  after  half-past  seven." 

"I  understood  Vivian  was  here,"  said  Rachael,  flush- 
ing darkly.  "Let  me  see — the  next  morning — where 
was  I?  Oh,  yes,  it  was  your  luncheon,  and  Billy  had 
gone  out  for  some  tennis  when  I  came  downstairs.  I 
supposed  of  course — but  I  didn't  ask.  I  did  ask  Helda 
what  time  she  had  let  the  gentleman  out  and  she 
said  before  eleven — not  much  after  half-past  ten,  in 
fact." 

"You  see,  we  mustn't  go  on  suppositions  and  half- 
truths  any  more,"  said  Mrs.  Haviland  in  delicate  re- 
proach. "When  we  have  that  wonderful  and  delicate 
thing,  a  girl's  soul,  to  deal  with,  we  must  be  sure" 

"I  suppose  I'd  better  tell  Clarence  that — about  Wed- 
nesday night,"  Rachael  said,  downing  with  some  effort 
an  impulse  to  ask  Florence  not  to  be  so  smug. 

"Well,  I  think  you  had,"  the  other  agreed,  with  visi- 
ble relief. 

"As  for  me,"  Mrs.  Breckenridge  said,  nettled  by  her 
sister-in-law's  attitude,  and  mischievously  interested  in 
the  effect  of  her  thunderbolt,  "I'm  just  desperately 
tired  of  it.  I  can't  see  that  I'm  doing  Clarence,  or 
Billy,  or  myself,  any  good!  I'd  like  to  resign,  and  let 
somebody  else  try  for  a  while!" 

Steel  leaped  into  Mrs.  Haviland's  light-blue  eyes. 
She  felt  the  shock  in  every  fibre  of  body  and  soul,  but 
she  flung  herself  gallantly  into  the  charge.  Her  large 
form  straightened,  her  expression  achieved  a  certain 
remoteness. 

"What  do  you  mean  by  that?"  she  asked  sharply. 

"The  usual  thing,  I  suppose,"  Rachael  answered  in* 
differently. 


THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL  75 

The  older  woman,  watching  her  closely,  essayed  a 
brief,  dry  laugh. 

"Don't  talk  absurdities,"  she  said  boldly.  But 
Rachael  saw  the  uneasiness  under  the  assured  manner, 
and  smiled  to  herself. 

"It's  not  absurd  at  all,"  she  protested,  still  with  her 
smiling,  half-negligent  air;  "I've  put  it  off  years  longer 
than  most  women  would;  now  I'm  getting  rather 
tired.'; 

"It's  a  great  mistake  to  talk  that  way,  whether  you 
mean  it  or  not,"  Mrs.  Haviland  said,  after  an  uncom- 
fortable moment,  during  which  her  face  flushed,  and 
her  breath  began  to  come  rather  fast.  "But  you're 
joking,  of  course;  you're  too  sensible  to  take  any  step 
that  would  only  plunge  you  into  fresh  difficulties.  Clar- 
ence is  very  trying,  I  know — we  all  know  that — but 
let's  try  to  face  the  situation  sensibly,  and  not  fly  off 
the  handle  like  this!  Why,  Rachael  dear,  I  can  hardly 
believe  it's  your  cool-headed,  reasonable  self  talking," 
she  went  on  more  quietly.  "Don't — don't  even  think 
about  it!  In  the  first  place,  you  couldn't  get  it!" 

"Oh,  yes,  I  could.  Clarence  wouldn't  contest  it," 
Rachael  said.  "He'd  agree  to  anything  to  be  rid  of  me. 
If  not — if  he  wouldn't  agree  to  my  filing  suit  under  the 
New  York  law,  I  could  establish  my  residence  in  Cali- 
fornia or  Nevada,  and  bring  suit  there.  ..." 

Mrs.  Haviland  gasped. 

"Give  up  your  home  and  your  car  and  your  maids 
for  some  small  hotel?"  she  questioned,  with  her  favor- 
ite air  of  neatly  placing  her  fingertip  upon  the  weak 
spot  in  her  opponent's  armor.  "No  clubs,  no  din- 
ners, none  of  your  old  friends — have  you  thought  of 
that?" 

"You  may  imagine  that  I've  thought  of  it  from  a 
good  many  angles,  Florence,"  Rachael  said  coldly, 
finding  that  what  had  been  a  mere  drifting  idea  was 
beginning  to  take  rather  definite  form  in  her  mind.  It 
was  delightful  to  see  the  usually  complacent  and  dom- 
ineering Florence  so  agitated  and  at  a  loss, 


76  THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL 

"I    never    dreamed "    Mrs.    Haviland    mused 

dazedly.     "  How  long,  in  Heaven's  name,  have  you  been 
thinking  about  it?" 

"Oh,  quite  some  time,"  said  Rachael. 

"Well,  it's  awful!"  the  other  woman  said.  "It'll 
make  the  most  awful — and  as  if  poor  Clarence  hadn't 
been  all  through  it  all  once!  I  declare  it  makes  me  sick! 
But  I  can't  believe  you're  serious.  Rachael,  think— 
think  what  it  means!" 

"It's  a  very  serious  thing,"  the  other  assented 
placidly.  "But  Clarence  has  no  one  but  himself  to 
blame." 

"Only  Clarence  won't  be  blamed,  my  dear;  men  never 
are!"  Mrs.  Haviland  suggested  unkindly.  Rachael 
reddened. 

"/  don't  care  what  they  say  or  whom  they  blame!" 
she  answered  proudly. 

"Ah,  well,  my  dear,  we  aren't  any  of  us  really  indiffer- 
ent to  criticism,"  the  older  woman  said,  watching 
closely  the  effect  of  her  words.  "People  are  censori- 
ous— it's  too  bad,  it's  a  pity — but  there  you  are.  *  There 
must  have  been  something  we  didn't  understand/ 
they  say,  'there  must  be  another  man!' 3 

Rachael  raised  her  head  a  little,  and  managed  a  smile. 

"That's  what  they  say,"  Mrs.  Haviland  went  on, 
mildly  triumphant.  "And  no  matter  how  brave  or  how 
independent  a  woman  is,  she  doesn't  like  that.'9  There 
came  to  the  speaker  suddenly,  under  her  smooth  flow  of 
words,  a  sickening  shock  of  realization:  it  was  of 
Rachael  and  Clarence  she  was  speaking,  her  nearest 
relatives;  it  was  one  of  the  bulwarks  of  her  world  that 
was  threatened!  Without  her  knowledge  her  tone 
became  less  sure  and  more  sincere.  "For  God's  sake, 
think  what  you  are  doing,  dear,"  she  said  pleadingly; 
"think  of  Carol  and  of  us  all!  Don't  drag  us  all 
through  the  papers  again!  I  know  what  Clarence  is, 
poor  wretched  boy;  he's  always  had  too  much  money, 
he's  always  had  his  own  way.  I  know  what  you  put 
up  with  week  in  and  week  out " 


THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL  77 

Mrs.  HavilancTs  usual  attitude  of  assured  superiority 
never  impressed  her  sister-in-law.  Her  pompous  mag- 
nificence was  a  source  of  unmitigated  amusement  to 
Rachael.  But  now  the  older  woman's  emotion  had 
carried  her  on  to  genuine  and  honest  expression  in  spite 
of  herself,  and  listening,  Rachael  found  herself  curiously 
stirred.  She  looked  down,  conscious  of  a  sudden  melt- 
ing in  her  heart,  a  thickening  in  her  throat. 

"I've  always  been  so  fond  of  you,  Rachael,"  Florence 
went  on.  "I've  always  stood  your  friend — you  know 
that- 

"I  know,"  Rachael  said  huskily,  her  lashes  dropped. 

"Long  before  I  knew  how  much  you  would  be  liked, 
Rachael,  and  what  a  fuss  people  were  going  to  make  over 
you,  I  made  you  welcome,"  continued  Florence  simply, 
with  tears  in  her  eyes.  "I  thanked  God  that  Clarence 
had  married  a  good  woman,  and  that  Carol  would  have 
a  refined  and  a — I  may  say  a  Christian  home.  Isn't 
that  true?" 

"I  know,"  Rachael  said  again  with  an  effort,  as  she 
paused. 

"Then  think  it  over,"  besought  the  other  woman 
eagerly.  "Think  that  Carol  will  marry,  and  that  Clar- 
ence— Her  ardent  tone  dropped  suddenly.  There 
was  a  moment's  pause.  Then  she  added  dryly,  "How 
do,  dear?" 

"How  do,  Tante  Firenze!"  said  Carol,  who  had  come 
abruptly  into  the  room.  "How  are  the  girls?  Say, 
listen !  Is  Isabelle  going  to  the  Bowditches'  ? " 

"I  don't  even  know  that  Charlotte  is  going,"  Mrs. 
Haviland  said,  with  an  auntly  smile  of  baffling  sweet^ 
ness  that  yet  contained  a  subtle  reproof.  "Uncle 
Gardner  and  I  haven't  made  up  our  minds.  Isabelle 
in  any  case  would  only  go  to  look  on,  so  she  is  not  so 
much  interested,  but  poor  Charlotte  is  simply  on  ten- 
terhooks to  know  whether  it's  to  be  yes  or  no.  Girls' 
first  parties" — her  indulgent  smile  included  Rachael — 
"dear  me,  how  important  they  seem!" 

"I  should  think  you'd  have  to  answer  Mrs.  Bow- 


78  THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL 

ditch,"  said  Carol  in  plain  disgust  at  this  maternal 
vacillation. 

"Mrs.  Bpwditch  is  fortunately  an  old  enough  friend, 
dear,  to  waive  the  usual  formalities,"  her  aunt  answered 
sweetly. 

"But,  my  gracious — Charlotte's  two  months  older 
than  I  am,  and  she  won't  know  any  of  the  men!"  Carol 
protested. 

"Don't  speak  in  that  precocious  way,  Bill,"  Rachael 
said  sharply.  "You  went  to  yor  first  dances  last 
winter!" 

Carol  gave  her  stepmother  a  look  conspicuously  de- 
void of  affection,  and  turned  to  adjust  her  smart  little 
hat  with  the  aid  of  a  narrow  mirror  hanging  between 
the  glass  dining-room  doors. 

"You  couldn't  drop  me  at  the  club,  on  your  way  to 
church,  Tante?"  she  presently  inquired.  And  to 
Rachael  she  added,  with  youthful  impatience,  "I  told 
Dad  where  I  was  going!" 

Mrs.  Haviland  rose  somewhat  heavily. 

"Glad  to.  Any  chance  of  you  coming  to  lunch, 
Rachael?  What  are  your  plans?" 

"Thank  you,  no,  woman  dear!  I  may  go  over  to 
Gertrude's  for  tea." 

The  little  group  broke  up.  Mrs.  Haviland  and  her 
niece  went  out  to  the  waiting  motor  car  purring  on  the 
pebbled  drive.  Rachael  idly  watched  them  out  of 
sight,  sighed  at  the  thought  of  wasting  so  beautiful  a 
day  indoors,  and  went  slowly  upstairs.  Her  husband, 
comfortably  propped  in  pillows,  looked  better. 

"Clarence,"  said  she,  depositing  several  pounds  of 
morning  papers  upon  the  foot  of  his  bed,  "who's  Billy 
lunching  with  at  the  club?" 

Clarence  picked  up  the  uppermost  paper,  fixed  his 
eyes  attentively  upon  it,  and  puffed  upon  his  cigarette 
for  reply. 

"Do  you  know?"  Rachael  asked  vigorously. 

No  answer.  Mr.  Breckenridge,  his  eyes  still  intent 
upon  what  he  was  reading,  held  his  cigarette  at  arm's 


THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL  79 

length  over  the  brass  bowl  on  the  table  beside  the  bed, 
and  dislodged  a  quarter-inch  of  ash  with  his  little 
finger. 

Rachael,  briskly  setting  his  cluttered  table  to  rights, 
gave  him  an  angry  glance  that,  so  far  as  any  effect 
upon  him  was  concerned,  was  thrown  away. 

"  Don't  be  so  rude,  Clarence,"  she  said,  in  annoyance. 
"Billy  said  you  agreed  to  her  going  to  the  club  for  golf. 
Who's  she  with?" 

At  last  Mr.  Breckenridge  raised  sodden  and  redshot 
eyes  to  his  wife's  face,  moistening  his  dark  and  swollen 
lips  carefully '  with  his  tongue  before  he  spoke.  He 
was  a  fat-faced  man,  who,  despite  evidences  of  dissipa- 
tion, did  not  look  his  more  than  forty  years.  There  was 
no  gray  in  his  thin,  silky  hair,  and  there  still  lingered  an 
air  of  youth  and  innocence  in  his  round  face.  This 
morning  he  was  in  a  bad  temper  because  his  whole  body 
was  still  upset  from  the  Friday  night  dinner  and  drink- 
ing party,  and  in  his  soul  he  knew  that  he  had  cut  rather 
a  poor  figure  before  Billy,  and  that  the  little  minx  had 
taken  instant  advantage  of  the  situation. 

"I  just  want  to  say  this,  Rachael,"  Clarence  said, 
with  an  icy  dignity  only  slightly  impaired  by  the  linger- 
ing influences  of  drink.  "  I'm  Billy's  father,  and  I  under- 
stand her,  and  she  understands  me.  That's  all  that's 
necessary;  do  you  get  me  ? "  He  put  his  cigarette  holder 
back  in  his  mouth,  gripped  it  firmly  between  his  teeth, 
and  turned  again  to  his  paper.  "  If  some  of  you  damned 
jealous  women  who  are  always  running  around  trying 
to  make  trouble  would  let  her  alone"  he  went  on  sulk- 
ily, "I'd  be  obliged  to  you — that's  all!" 

Rachael  settled  her  ruffles  in  a  big  wing-chair  with 
the  innocent  expression  of  a  casual  caller.  She  took  a 
book  from  the  reading  table,  and  fluttered  a  few  pages 
indifferently. 

"Listen,  Clancy,"  said  she  placatingly.  "Florence 
was  just  here,  and  she  says — and  I  agree — that  there  is 
no  question  that  Joe  Pickering  is  devoted  to  Bill.  Now, 
I  don't  say  that  Billy  is  equally  devoted " 


80  THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL 

"Ha!  Better  not!"  said  Clarence  at  white  heat,  one 
eye  watchful  over  the  top  of  the  paper. 

"But  I  do  say,"  pursued  Rachael  steadily,  "that  she 
is  with  him  a  good  deal  more  than  she  will  admit.  Yes- 
terday, for  instance,  when  she  was  playing  tennis  with 
the  Parmalees  and  the  Pinckard  boy,  Kent  came  up  to 
the  house  to  get  some  ginger  ale.  I  happened  to  be 
dummy,  and  I  went  out  on  the  terrace.  Joe's  horse 
was  down  near  the  courts,  and  Joe  and  Billy  were  sitting 
there  on  one  of  the  benches — where  the  others  were  I 
don't  know.  When  Kent  went  down  with  the  ginger 
ale,  Joe  got  on  his  horse  and  went  off*.  Of  course  it 
was  only  for  a  few  minutes,  but  Billy  didn't  say  any- 
thing about  it " 

Her  voice,  with  a  tentative  question  in  it,  rested  in 
air.  Clarence  turned  a  page  with  some  rustling  of 
paper. 

"Then  Florence  says,"  Rachael  went  on  after  a  mo- 
ment, "that  when  she  and  Gardner  stopped  here  Wed- 
nesday night  Joe  was  here,  and  Vivvie  Sartoris  wasn't 
here.  Now,  of  course,  I  don't  know,  for  I  didn't  ask 
Alfred " 

"There  you  go,"  said  the  sick  man  witheringly. 
"That's  right — ask  the  maids,  and  get  all  the  servants 
talking;  all  come  down  on  the  heels  of  a  poor  little 
girl  like  a  pack  of  yapping  wolves!  I  suppose  if  she 
was  plain  and  unattractive — I  should  think  you'd  be 
ashamed,"  he  went  on,  changing  his  high  and  querulous 
key  to  one  of  almost  priestly  authority  and  reproof. 
"Upon  my  word,  it's  beneath  your  dignity.  My  little 
girl  comes  to  me,  and  she  explains  the  whole  matter. 
Pickering  admires  her — she  can't  help  that — and  she 
has  an  influence  over  him.  She  tells  me  he  hasn't 
touched  a  thing  but  beer  for  six  weeks,  just  because  she 
asked  him  to  give  up  heavy  drinking.  He  told  her  the 
other  day  that  if  he  had  met  her  a  few  years  ago,  Lucy 
never  would  have  left  him.  She's  wakened  the  boy 
up,  he's  a  different  fellow 3 

"All  that  may  be  true,"  Rachael  said  quickly,  the 


THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL  81 

color  that  his  preposterous  rebuke  had  summoned  to 
her  cheeks  still  flushing  them,  "still,  you  don't  want 
Billy  to  marry  Joe  Pickering!  You  know  that  sort  of 

pity,  and  that  business  of  reforming  a  man "  She 

paused,  but  Clarence  did  not  speak.  "Not  that  Billy 
herself  realizes  it,  I  daresay,"  Rachael  added  presently, 
watching  the  reader's  absorbed  face  for  an  answering 
look. 

Silence. 

"Clarence!"  she  began  imperatively. 

Clarence  withdrew  his  attention  from  the  paper  with 
an  obvious  effort,  and  spoke  in  a  laboriously  polite 
tone. 

"I  don't  care  to  discuss  it,  Rachael." 

"But "  Rachael  stopped  short  on  the  word. 

Silence  reigned  in  the  big,  bright  room  except  for  the 
occasional  rustle  of  Clarence's  newspaper.  His  wife 
sat  idle,  her  eyes  roving  indifferently  from  the  gayly 
papered  walls  to  the  gayly  flowered  hangings,  the 
great  bowl  of  daffodils  on  the  bookcase,  the  portrait  of 
Carol  that,  youthful  and  self-conscious,  looked  down 
from  the  mantel.  On  the  desk  a  later  photograph  of 
Carol,  in  a  silver  frame,  was  duly  flanked  by  one  of 
Rachael,  the  girl  in  the  gown  she  had  worn  for  her 
first  big  dance,  the  woman  looking  out  from  under  the 
narrow  brim  of  a  snug  winter  hat,  great  furs  framing 
her  beautiful  face,  and  her  slender  figure  wrapped  in 
furs.  Here  also  was  a  picture  of  Florence  Haviland, 
her  handsome  face  self-satisfied,  her  trio  of  homely, 
distinguished-looking  girls  about  her,  and  a  small 
picture  of  Gardner,  and  two  of  Clarence's  dead  mother: 
one,  as  they  all  remembered  her,  a  prim-looking  woman 
with  gray  hair  and  magnificent  lace  on  her  unfashion- 
able gown,  the  other,  taken  thirty  years  before,  show- 
ing her  as  cheerful  and  youthful,  a  cascade  of  ringlets 
falling  over  her  shoulder,  the  arm  that  coquettishly 
supported  her  head  resting  upon  an  upholstered  ped- 
estal, a  voluminous  striped  silk  gown  sweeping  away 
from  her  in  rich  folds.  There  was  even  a  picture  of 


82  THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL 

Clarence  and  Florence  when  they  were  respectively 
eight  and  twelve,  Clarence  in  a  buttoned  serge  kilt 
and  plaid  stockings,  his  fat,  gentle  little  face  framed 
in  damp  careful  curls,  Florence  also  with  plaid  stock- 
ings and  a  scalloped  frock.  Clarence  sat  in  a  swing; 
Florence,  just  behind  him,  leaned  on  an  open  gate,  her 
legs  crossed  carelessly  as  she  rested  on  her  elbows. 
And  there  was  a  picture  of  their  father,  a  simple-faced 
man  in  an  ample  beard,  taken  at  that  period  when 
photographs  were  highly  glazed,  and  raised  in  bas 
relief.  Least  conspicuous  of  all  was  a  snapshot  framed 
in  a  circle  of  battered  blue-enamel  daisies,  the  picture 
of  a  baby  girl  laughing  against  a  background  of  dande- 
lions and  meadow  grass.  And  Rachael  knew  that  this 
was  Clarence's  greatest  treasure,  that  it  went  wherever 
he  went,  and  that  it  was  worn  shabby  and  tarnished 
from  his  hands  and  his  lips. 

Sometimes  she  looked  at  it  and  wondered.  What  a 
bright-faced,  gay  little  thing  Billy  had  been!  Who  had 
set  her  down  in  that  field,  and  quieted  the  rioting  eyes 
and  curls  and  dimples,  and  anchored  the  restless  little 
feet,  while  Baby  watched  Dad  and  the  black  box  with 
the  birdie  in  it?  Paula?  Once,  idly  interested  in 
those  old  days  before  she  had  known  him,  she  had 
asked  about  the  picture.  But  Clarence,  glad  to  talk 
of  it,  had  not  mentioned  his  wife. 

"It  was  before  my  father  died;  we  were  up  in 
the  old  Maine  place,"  he  had  said.  "Gosh,  Bill  was 
cute  that  day!  We  went  on  a  drive — no  motor  cars 
then — and  took  our  lunch,  and  after  lunch  the  kid 
comes  and  settles  herself  in  my  arms — for  a  nap,  if 
you  please!  'Say,  look-a-here,'  I  said,  'what  do  you 
think  I  am — a  Pullman?'  I  wanted  a  smoke,  by 
George!  She  wasn't  two,  you  know.  Her  fat  little 
legs  were  bare,  we'd  put  her  into  socks,  and  her  face 
was  flushed,  and  she  just  looked  up  at  me  through  her 
hair  and  said,  'Ring!'  Well,  it  was  good-bye  smoke 
for  me!  I  sang  all  right,  and  she  cuddled  down  as 
pleased  as  a  kitten,  and  off  she  went! " 


THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL  83 

To-day  Rachael's  eyes  wandered  from  the  picture 
to  Clarence's  face.  She  tried  to  study  it  dispassion- 
ately, but,  still  shaken  by  their  recent  conversation, 
and  sitting  there,  as  she  knew  she  was  sitting  there, 
merely  to  prove  that  it  had  had  no  effect  upon  her, 
she  felt  this  to  be  a  little  difficult. 

What  sort  of  a  little  boy  had  he  been?  A  fat  little 
boy,  of  course.  She  disliked  fat  little  boys.  A  spoiled 
little  boy,  never  crossed  in  any  way.  His  mother  made 
him  go  to  Sunday-school,  and  dancing  school,  and  to 
Miss  Nesmith's  private  academy,  where  he  was  coaxed 
and  praised  and  indulged  even  more  than  at  home. 
And  old  Fanny,  who  was  still  with  Florence,  super- 
intended his  baths  and  took  care  of  his  clothes,  and 
ran  her  finger  over  the  bristles  of  his  toothbrush  every 
morning,  to  see  if  he  had  told  her  the  truth.  He  rarely 
did;  they  used  to  laugh  about  those  old  deceptions. 
Clarence  used  to  laugh  as  violently  as  the  old  woman 
when  she  accused  him  of  occasional  kicking  and  biting. 

Other  boys  came  in  to  play  with  him.  Was  it  be- 
cause of  his  magic  lantern  and  his  velocipede,  his  un- 
ending supply  of  cream  puffs  and  licorice  sticks,  or 
because  they  liked  him?  Rachael  knew  only  a  detail 
here  and  there:  that  he  had  danced  a  fancy  dance 
with  Anna  Vanderwall  when  he  was  a  fat  sixteen,  at  a 
Kermess,  and  that  he  had  given  a  stag  dinner  to  twenty 
youths  of  his  own  age  a  few  days  before  he  went  off 
to  college,  and  that  they  had  drunk  a  hundred  and 
fifty  dollars'  worth  of  champagne.  She  knew  that  his 
allowance  at  college  was  three  hundred  dollars  a  month, 
and  that  he  never  stayed  within  it,  and  it  was  old 
Fanny's  boast  that  every  stitch  the  boy  ever  wore  from 
the  day  he  was  born  came  from  London  or  Paris. 
His  underwear  was  as  dainty  as  a  bride's;  he  had  his 
first  dress  suit  at  fifteen;  at  college  he  had  his  suite  of 
three  big  rooms  furnished  like  showrooms,  his  mono- 
grammed  cigarettes,  his  boat,  and  his  horse. 

The  thought  of  all  these  things  used  to  distress  his 
mother  when  she  was  old  and  much  alone.  She  at- 


84  THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL 

tempted  to  belittle  the  luxury  of  Clarence's  boyhood. 
She  told  Rachael  that  he  was  treated  just  as  the  other 
boys  were.  Her  conscience  was  never  quite  easy  about 
his  upbringing. 

"You  can't  hold  a  boy  too  tight,  you  know,  or  else 
he'll  break  away  altogether/'  old  lady  Breckenridge 
would  say  to  Rachael,  sitting  before  a  coal  fire  in  the 
gloomy  magnificence  of  her  old-fashioned  drawing- 
room  and  pressing  the  white  fingers  of  one  hand  against 
the  agonized  joints  of  the  other.  "I  was  often  severe 
with  Clarence,  and  he  was  a  good  boy  until  he  got 
with  other  boys;  he  was  always  loving  to  me.  He 
never  should  have  married  Paula  Verlaine,"  she  would 
add  fretfully.  "A  good  woman  would  have  overlooked 
his  faults  and  made  a  fine  man  of  him,  but  she  was 
always  an  empty-headed  little  thing!  Ah,  well" — 
and  the  poor  old  woman  would  sigh  as  she  drew  her 
fluffy  shawl  about  her  shoulders — "I  cannot  blame 
myself,  that's  my  great  consolation  now,  Rachael, 
when  I  think  of  facing  my  Master  and  rendering  an 
account.  I  have  been  heavily  afflicted,  but  I  am  not 
the  first  God-fearing  woman  who  has  been  visited  with 
sorrow  through  her  children!" 

Clarence  had  visited  his  mother  often  in  the  weeks 
that  preceded  her  death,  but  she  did  not  take  much  heed 
of  his  somewhat  embarrassed  presence,  nor,  to  Rachael's 
surprise,  did  her  last  hours  contain  any  of  those  heroic 
joys  that  are  supposedly  the  reward  of  long  suffering 
and  virtue.  An  unexpressed  terror  seemed  to  linger 
in  her  sickroom,  indeed  to  pervade  the  whole  house; 
the  invalid  lay  staring  drearily  at  the  heavy  furnish- 
ings of  her  immense  dark  room,  a  nurse  slipped  in  and 
out;  the  bloody  light  of  the  westering  sun,  falling 
through  stairway  windows  of  colored  glass,  blazed  in 
the  great  hallway  all  through  the  chilly  October  after- 
noons. Callers  came  and  went,  there  were  subdued 
voices  and  soft  footsteps;  flowers  came,  their  wet 
fragrance  breaking  from  oiled  paper  and  soaked  card- 
board boxes,  the  cards  that  were  wired  to  them  re- 


THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL  85 

sisting  all  attempts  at  detachment.  Clergymen  came, 
and  Rachael  imitated  their  manner  afterward,  to  the 
general  delight. 

On  the  day  before  she  died  Mrs.  Breckenridge 
caught  her  son's  plump  cool  hand  in  her  own  hot  one, 
and  made  him  promise  to  stop  drinking,  and  to  go  to 
church,  and  to  have  Carol  confirmed.  Clarence  prom- 
ised everything. 

But  he  did  not  keep  his  promises.  Rachael  had  not 
thought  he  would;  perhaps  the  old  lady  herself  had  not 
thought  he  would.  He  was  sobered  at  the  funeral, 
but  not  sober.  Six  weeks  later  all  the  bills  against 
the  estate  were  in.  Florence  had  some  of  the  family 
jewels  and  the  family  silver,  Rachael  had  some,  some 
was  put  away  for  Billy;  the  furniture  was  sold,  the 
house  rented  for  a  men's  club,  and  a  nondescript  man, 
calling  upon  young  Mrs.  Breckenridge,  notified  her 
that  the  stone  had  been  set  in  place  as  ordered.  They 
never  saw  it;  they  paid  a  small  sum  annually  for  keep- 
ing the  plot  in  order,  and  the  episode  of  Ada  Martin 
Langhorne  Breckenridge's  life  was  over. 

Clarence  drank  so  heavily  after  that,  and  squandered 
his  magnificent  heritage  so  recklessly,  that  people 
began  to  say  that  he  would  soon  follow  his  mother. 
But  that  was  four  years  ago,  and  Rachael  looking  dis- 
passionately at  him,  where  he  lay  dozing  in  his  pillows, 
had  to  admit  that  he  had  shown  no  change  in  the  past 
four — or  eight,  or  twelve — years.  Like  many  a  better 
woman,  and  many  a  better  wife,  she  wondered  if  she 
would  outlive  him,  vaguely  saw  herself,  correct  and  re- 
mote, in  her  new  black. 

Involuntarily  she  sighed.  How  free  she  would  be! 
She  wished  Clarence  no  ill,  but  the  fact  remained  that, 
loose  as  was  the  bond  between  them,  it  galled  and 
checked  them  both  at  every  step.  Their  conversa- 
tions were  embittered  by  a  thousand  personalities, 
they  instinctively  knew  how  to  hurt  each  other;  a  look 
from  Clarence  could  crush  his  poised  and  accomplished 
wife  into  a  mere  sullen  shrew,  and  she  knew  that  it 


86  THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL 

took  less  than  a  look  from  her — it  took  the  mere  exist- 
ence of  her  youth  and  health  and  freshness — to  in- 
furiate him  sometimes.  At  best,  their  relationship 
consciously  avoided  hostility.  Rachael  was  silent, 
fuming;  Clarence  fumed  and  was  silent;  they  sank  to 
light  monosyllables;  they  parted  as  quickly  as  possible. 
Would  Clarence  like  to  dine  with  this  friend  or  that? 
Rachael  didn't  think  he  would,  but  might  as  well  ask 
him.  No,  thank  you!  he  wouldn't  be  found  dead  in 
that  bunch.  Did  Rachael  want  to  go  with  the  Smiths 
and  the  Joneses  to  dine  at  the  Highway,  and  dance 
afterward  ?  Oh,  horrors !  no,  thank  you ! 

It  was  only  when  she  spoke  of  Billy  that  Rachael 
was  sure  of  his  interest  and  attention,  and  of  late  she 
perforce  had  for  Billy  only  criticism  and  disapproval. 
Rachael  read  the  girl's  vain  and  shallow  and  pleasure- 
loving  little  heart  far  more  truly  than  her  father  could, 
and  she  was  conscious  of  a  genuine  fear  lest  Billy  bring 
sorrow  to  them  all.  Society  was  indulgent,  yes,  but 
an  insolent  and  undeveloped  little  girl  like  Billy  could 
not  snap  her  fingers  at  the  law  without  suffering  the 
full  penalty.  Rachael  would  suffer,  too.  Florence  and 
her  girls  would  suffer,  and  Clarence — well,  Clarence 
would  not  bear  it. 

"What  an  awful  mix-up  it  is!"  Rachael  thought 
wearily.  "And  what  a  sickening,  tiresome  place  this 
world  is!" 

And  then  suddenly  the  thought  of  Warren  Gregory 
came  back,  and  the  new  curious  sensation  of  warmth 
tugged  at  her  heart. 


CHAPTER  IV 

MRS.  GARDNER  HAVILAND,  whirling  home  in  her  big 
car,  after  church,  was  hardly  more  pleased  with  life 
than  was  her  beautiful  sister-in-law,  although  she  was 
not  quite  as  conscious  of  dissatisfaction  as  was  Rachael. 
Her  position  as  a  successful  mother,  wife,  housekeeper, 
and  member  of  society  was  theoretically  so  perfect 
that  she  derived  from  it,  necessarily,  an  enormous 
amount  of  theoretical  satisfaction.  She  could  find  no 
fault  with  herself  or  her  environment;  she  was  pleas- 
antly ready  with  advice  or  with  an  opinion  or  with  a 
verJict  in  every  contingency  that  might  arise  in  human 
affairs,  as  a  Christian  woman  of  unimpeachable  moral 
standing.  She  knew  her  value  in  a  hectic  and  reckless 
world.  She  did  not  approve  of  women  smoking,  or  of 
suffrage,  but  she  played  a  brilliant  game  of  bridge, 
and  did  not  object  to  an  infinitesimal  stake.  She 
belonged  to  clubs  and  to  their  directorates,  yet  it  was 
her  boast  that  she  knew  every  thought  in  her  chil- 
dren's hearts,  and  the  personal  lives  and  hopes  and 
ambitions  of  her  maids  were  as  an  open  book  to  her. 

Still,  she  had  her  moments  of  weakness,  and  on 
this  warm  day  of  the  spring  she  felt  vaguely  dis- 
appointed with  life.  RachaeFs  hints  of  divorce  had 
filled  her  with  a  real  apprehension;  she  felt  a  good 
aunt's  concern  at  Billy's  reckless  course,  and  a  good 
sister's  disapproval  of  Clarence  and  his  besetting  sin. 

But  it  was  not  these  considerations  that  darkened 
her  full  handsome  face  as  she  went  up  the  steps  of  her 
big,  widespread  country  mansion;  it  was  some  vaguer, 
more  subtle  discontent.  She  had  not  dressed  herself 
for  the  sudden  warmth  of  the  day,  and  her  heavy 
flowered  hat  and  trim  veil  had  given  her  a  headache. 

87 


88  THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL 

The  blazing  sunlight  on  white  steps  and  blooming 
flowers  blinded  her,  and  when  she  stepped  into  the  dark, 
cool  hall  she  could  hardly  see. 

The  three  girls  were  there,  well-bred,  homely  girls, 
in  their  simple  linens:  Charlotte,  a  rather  severe  type, 
eyeglassed  at  eighteen,  her  thick,  light-brown  hair 
plainly  brushed  off  her  face  and  knotted  on  her  neck, 
was  obviously  the  opposite  of  everything  Billy  was; 
conscientious,  intellectual,  and  conscious  of  her  own 
righteousness,  she  could  not  compete  with  her  cousin 
in  Billy's  field;  she  very  sensibly  made  the  best  of  her 
own  field.  Isabelle  was  a  stout,  clumsy  girl  of  sixteen, 
with  a  metal  bar  across  her  large  white  teeth,  red  hair, 
and  a  creamy  skin.  Little  Florence  was  only  nine,  a 
thin,  freckled,  sensitive  child,  with  a  shy,  unsmiling 
passion  for  dogs  and  horses,  and  little  in  common  with 
the  rest  of  the  world. 

Their  mother  had  expected  sons  in  every  case,  and 
still  felt  a  little  baffled  by  the  fact  of  her  children's 
sex.  Charlotte  proving  a  girl,  she  had  said  gallantly 
that  she  must  have  a  little  brother  "to  play  with 
Charlotte."  Isabelle,  duly  arriving,  probably  played 
with  Charlotte  much  more  amiably  than  a  brother 
would  have  done,  and  Mrs.  Haviland  blandly  accepted 
her  existence,  but  in  her  heart  she  was  far  from  feeling 
satisfied.  She  was,  of  course,  an  absolutely  competent 
mother  to  girls,  but  she  felt  that  she  would  have  been 
a  more  capable  and  wonderful  mother  to  boys. 

More  than  six  years  after  Isabelle' s  birth  Florence 
Haviland  began  to  talk  smilingly  of  "my  boy."  "  Gard- 
ner worships  the  girls,"  she  said,  with  wifely  indulgence, 
"but  I  know  he  wants  a  son — and  the  girlies  need  a 
brother!"  A  resigned  shrug  ended  the  sentence  with: 
"So  I'm  in  for  the  whole  thing  again!" 

It  was  said  that  Mrs.  Haviland  greeted  the  news  that 
the  third  child  was  a  daughter  with  a  mechanically 
bright  smile,  as  one  puzzled  beyond  all  words  by  per- 
verse event,  and  that  her  spoken  comment  was  the 
single  mild  ejaculation:  "Extraordinary!" 


THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL  89 

Now  the  two  older  Haviland  girls,  following  their 
mother  into  her  bedroom,  seated  themselves  there 
while  she  changed  her  dress.  Florence  junior,  in 
passionate  argument  with  the  butler  over  the  death 
of  one  of  the  drawing-room  goldfish,  remained  down- 
stairs. Mrs.  Haviland,  casting  the  hot,  high-collared 
silk  upon  the  bed,  took  a  new  embroidered  pongee 
from  a  box,  and  busied  herself  with  its  unfamiliar 
hooks  and  straps.  Charlotte  and  Isabelle  were  never 
quite  spontaneous  in  their  conversations  with  their 
mother,  their  attitude  in  talking  with  her  being  one 
of  alert  and  cautious  self-consciousness;  they  did 
not  breathe  quite  naturally,  and  they  laughed  con- 
stantly. Yet  they  both  loved  this  big,  firm,  omnipo- 
tent being,  and  believed  in  her  utterly  and  com- 
pletely. 

"We  met  Doctor  Gregory  and  Charlie  near  the  club 
this  morning,  M'ma,"  volunteered  Isabelle. 

"And  they  asked  about  Mrs.  Bowditch's  dance," 
Charlotte  added  with  a  little  innocent  craft.  "But 
I  said  that  M'ma  had  been  unable  to  decide.  Of  course 
I  said  that  we  would  like  to  go,  and  that  you  knew  that, 
and  would  allow  it  if  you  possibly  could." 

"That  was  quite  right,  dear,"  Mrs.  Haviland  said 
to  her  oldest  daughter,  calmly  ignoring  the  implied 
question,  and  to  Isabelle  she  added  kindly:  "M'ma 
doesn't  quite  like  to  hear  you  calling  a  young  man  you 
hardly  know  by  his  first  name,  Isabelle.  Of  course, 
there's  no  harm  in  it,  but  it  cheapens  a  girl  just  a  little. 
While  Charlotte  might  do  it  because  she  is  older,  and 
has  seen  Charlie  Gregory  at  some  of  the  little  informal 
affairs  last  winter,  you  are  younger,  and  haven't  really 
seen  much  of  him  since  he  went  to  college.  Don't 
let  M'ma  hear  you  do  that  again." 

Isabelle  turned  a  lively  scarlet,  and  even  Charlotte 
colored  and  was  silent.  The  younger  girl's  shamed 
eyes  met  her  mother's,  and  she  nodded  in  quick  em- 
barrassment. But  this  tacit  consent  did  not  satisfy 
Mrs.  Haviland. 


90  THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL 

"You  understand  M'ma,  don't  you,  dear?"  she  asked. 
Isabelle  murmured  something  indistinguishable. 

"Yes,  M'ma!"  said  that  lady  herself,  encouragingly 
and  briskly.  Isabelle  duly  echoed  a  husky  "Yes, 
M'ma!" 

"Did  you  give  my  message  to  Miss  Roper,  Char- 
lotte ? "  pursued  the  matron. 

"She  wasn't  at  church,  M'ma,"  said  Charlotte,  taken 
unawares  and  instinctively  uneasy.  "Mrs.  Roper 
said  she  had  a  heavy  cold;  she  said  she'd  been  sleeping 
on  the  sleeping  porch." 

"So  M'ma's  message  was  forgotten?"  the  mother 
asked  pleasantly. 

Charlotte  perceived  herself  to  be  in  an  extremely 
dangerous  position.  Long  ago  both  girls  had  lost, 
under  this  close  surveillance  and  skilful  system  of 
cross-examination,  their  original  regard  for  truth  as 
truth.  That  they  usually  said  what  was  true  was 
because  policy  and  self-protection  suggested  it.  Char- 
lotte had  time  now  for  a  flying  survey  of  the  situation 
and  its  possibilities  before  she  answered,  somewhat 
uncertainly: 

"I  asked  Mrs.  Roper  to  deliver  it,  M'ma.  Wasn't 

that "  Her  voice  faltered  nervously.  "Was  it 

something  you  would  have  rather  telephoned  about?" 

"Would  rather  have  telephoned  about?"  Mrs.  Havi- 
land  corrected  automatically.  "Well,  M'ma  would 
rather/^/  that  when  she  sends  a  message  it  is  given  to 
just  the  person  to  whom  she  sent  it,  in  just  the  way 
she  sent  it.  However,  in  this  case  no  harm  was  done. 
Don't  hook  your  heel  over  the  rung  of  your  chair, 
dear!  Ring  the  bell,  Isabelle,  I  want  Alice." 

"I'll  hook  you,  M'ma!"  volunteered  Charlotte. 

" Thank  you,  dear,  but  I  want  to  speak  to  Alice. 
And  now  you  girls  might  run  along.  I'll  be  down  di- 
rectly." 

A  moment  later  she  submitted  herself  patiently  to 
the  maid's  hands.  Florence  was  a  conscientious  woman, 
and  she  felt  that  she  owed  Alice  as  well  as  herself 


THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL  91 

this  little  office.  Charlotte  might  have  hooked  her 
gown  for  her;  indeed,  she  might  with  a  small  effort 
have  done  it  herself,  but  it  was  Alice's  duty,  and  noth- 
ing could  be  worse  for  Alice,  or  any  servant,  than  to 
have  her  duties  erratically  assumed  by  others  on  one 
day  and  left  to  her  on  the  next.  This  was  the  quickest 
way  to  spoil  servants,  and  Florence  never  spoiled  her 
servants. 

"They  have  a  pleasant  day  for  their  picnic,"  she 
observed  now,  kindly.  Alice  was  on  her  knees,  her 
face  puckered  as  she  busied  herself  with  the  hooks  of  a 
girdle,  but  she  smiled  gratefully.  Her  two  brothers 
had  borrowed  their  employer's  coal  barge  to-day,  and 
with  a  score  of  cherished  associates,  several  hundred 
sandwiches,  sardines,  camp-chairs,  and  bottles  of  root 
beer,  with  a  smaller  number  of  chaperoning  mothers 
and  concertinas,  and  the  inevitable  baby  or  two,  were 
making  a  day  of  it  on  the  river.  Alice  had  timidly 
asked,  a  few  days  before,  for  a  holiday  to-day,  that 
she  might  join  them,  but  Mrs.  Haviland  had  pointed 
out  to  her  reasonably  that  she,  Alice,  had  been  at 
home,  unexpectedly,  because  of  her  mother's  illness, 
not  only  the  previous  Sunday,  but  the  Saturday,  too, 
and  had  got  half-a-day's  leave  of  absence  for  her 
cousin's  wedding  only  the  week  before  that.  Alice 
was  only  eighteen,  and  her  little  spurt  of  bravery  had 
been  entirely  exhausted  long  before  her  mistress's 
pleasant  voice  had  stopped.  Nothing  more  was  said 
of  the  excursion  until  to-day. 

"I  guess  they'll  be  eating  their  lunch,  now,  at  Old 
Dock  Point,"  said  Alice,  rising  from  her  knees. 

"Well,  I  hope  they'll  be  careful;  one  hears  of  so 
many  accidents  among  foolish  young  people  there!" 
Mrs.  Haviland  answered,  going  downstairs  to  join  her 
daughters  in  the  hall,  and,  surrounded  by  them,  pro- 
ceeding to  her  own  lunch. 

For  a  while  she  was  thoughtfully  silent,  and  the 
conversation  was  maintained  between  the  older  girls 
and  their  governess.  Charlotte  and  Isabelle  chatted 


92  THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL 

both  German  and  French  charmingly.  Little  Florence 
presently  began  to  talk  of  her  goldfish,  meanwhile 
cutting  a  channel  across  her  timbale  through  which 
the  gravy  ran  in  a  stream. 

Usually  their  mother  listened  to  them  with  a  quiet 
smile;  they  were  well-educated  girls,  and  any  mother's 
heart  must  have  been  proud  of  them.  But  to-day 
she  felt  herself  singularly  dissatisfied  with  them.  She 
said  to  herself  that  she  hated  Sundays,  of  all  the  days 
of  the  week.  Other  days  had  their  duties:  music, 
studies,  riding,  tennis,  or  walks,  but  on  Sundays  the 
girls  were  a  dead  weight  upon  her.  Somehow,  they 
were  not  in  the  current  of  good  times  that  the  other 
girls  and  boys  of  their  ages  were  having.  If  she  sug- 
gested brightly  that  they  go  over  to  the  Parmalees'  or 
the  Morans'  and  see  if  the  young  people  were  playing 
tennis,  she  knew  that  Charlotte  would  delicately  nega- 
tive the  idea:  "They've  got  their  sets  all  made  up, 
M'ma,  and  one  hates  to,  unless  they  specially  ask 
one,  don't  you  know?"  They  might  go,  of  course,  and 
greet  their  friends  decorously,  and  watch  the  game 
smilingly  for  a  while.  Then  they  would  come  home 
with  Fraiilein,  not  forgetting  to  say  good-bye  to  their 
hostess.  But,  although  Charlotte  played  a  better 
game  than  many  of  the  other  girls,  and  Isabelle  played 
a  good  game,  too,  there  were  always  gay  little  creatures 
in  dashing  costumes  who  monopolized  the  courts  and 
the  young  men,  and  made  the  Haviland  girls  feel  hope- 
lessly heavy  and  dull.  THtav  would  come  home  and 
tell  their  mother  that  Vivian  Sartoris  let  two  of  the 
boys  jump  her  over  the  net,  and  that  Cousin  Carol 
wore  Kent  Parmalee's  panama  all  afternoon,  and  called 
out  to  him,  right  across  the  court,  "Come  on  down  to 
the  boathouse,  Kent,  and  let's  have  a  smoke!" 

"Poor  Vivian — poor  Billy!"  Mrs.  Haviland  would 
say.  "Men  don't  really  admire  girls  who  allow  them 
such  familiarities,  although  the  silly  girls  may  think 
they  do!  But  when  it  comes  to  marrying,  it  is  the 
sweet,  womanly  girls  to  whom  the  men  turn!" 


THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL  93 

She  did  not  believe  this  herself,  nor  did  the  girls 
believe  it,  but,  if  they  discussed  it  when  they  were 
alone  together,  before  Mamma,  they  were  always  dec- 
orously impressed. 

"Any  plans  for  the  afternoon,  girlies?"  she  asked 
now,  when  the  forced  strawberries  were  on  the  table, 
and  little  Florence  was  trying  to  eat  the  nuts  out  of 
her  cake,  and  at  the  same  time  carefully  avoid  the  cake 
itself  and  the  frosting. 

"What's  Carol  doing,  M'ma?" 

"When  M'ma  asks  you  a  question,  Isabelle,  do  not 
answer  with  another  question,  dear.  I  dropped  Carol 
at  the  club,  but  I  think  Aunt  Rachael  means  to  pick 
her  up  there  later,  and  go  on  to  Mrs.  Whittaker's  for 


tea.'3 


"We  met  Mrs.  Whittaker  in  the  Exchange  yester- 
day, M'ma,  and  she  very  sweetly  said  that  you  were  to 
— that  is,  that  she  hoped  you  would  bring  us  in  for  a 
little  while  this  afternoon.  Didn't  she,  Isabelle?" 

"I  don't  want  to  go!"  Isabelle  grumbled.  But  her 
mother  ignored  her. 

"That  was  very  sweet  of  Aunt  Gertrude.  I  think 
I  will  go  over  to  the  club  and  see  what  Papa  is  planning 
and  how  his  game  is  going,  and  then  I  could  pick  you 
girls  up  here." 

"Fm  going  over  to  play  with  Georgie  and  Robbie 
Royce!"  shrilled  Florence.  "They're  mean  to  me, 
but  I  don't  care !  I  hit  George  in  the  stomach " 

Mrs.  Haviland  looked  as  pained  as  if  the  reported 
blow  had  fallen  upon  her  own  person,  but  she  was 
strangely  indulgent  to  her  youngest  born,  and  now  did 
no  more  than  signal  to  the  nurse,  old  Fanny,  who 
stood  grinning  behind  the  child's  chair,  that  Miss 
Florence  might  be  excused.  Florence  was  accordingly 
borne  off,  and  the  girls  drifted  idly  upstairs,  Isabelle 
confiding  to  her  sister  as  she  dutifully  brushed  her  teeth 
that  she  wished  "something"  would  happen!  Alice 
muttered  to  Sally,  another  maid,  over  her  strong  hot 
tea,  that  you  might  as  well  be  dead  as  never  do  a  thing 


94  THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL 

in  God's  world  you  wanted  to  do,  but  the  rest  of  the 
large  staff  enjoyed  a  hearty  meal,  and  when  Percival 
brought  the  car  around  at  three  o'clock,  Mrs.  Havi- 
land,  magnificent  in  a  change  of  costume,  spent  the 
entire  trip  to  the  club  in  the  resentful  reflection  that  the 
man  had  obviously  had  coffee  and  cream  and  mutton 
for  his  lunchy- disgusting  of  him  to  come  straight  to 
his  car  and  his  mistress  still  redolent  of  his  meal,  but 
what  could  one  do?  In  Mrs.  Haviland's  upper  rear 
hall  was  a  framed  and  typewritten  list  of  rules  for  the 
maids,  conspicuous  upon  which  were  those  for  daily 
baths  and  regular  use  of  toothbrushes.  But  Percival 
never  had  seen  this  list,  and  he  was  a  wonderful  driver 
and  a  special  favorite  with  her  husband.  She  decided 
that  there  was  nothing  to  be  done,  unless  of  course  the 
thing  recurred,  although  the  moment's  talk  with  Per- 
cival haunted  and  distressed  her  all  day. 

She  duly  returned  to  the  house  for  her  daughters  a 
little  after  four  o'clock,  and  in  amicable  conversation 
they  went  together  to  the  tea,  a  crowded,  informal 
affair,  in  another  large  house  full  of  rugs  and  flowers, 
rooms  dark  and  rich  with  expensive  tapestries  and 
mahogany,  rooms  bright  and  gay  with  white  enamel 
and  chintz  and  wicker  furniture. 

Everybody  was  here.  Jeanette  and  Phyllis,  as  well 
as  Elinor  Vanderwall,  Peter  Pomeroy  and  George, 
the  Buckneys  and  Parker  Hoyt,  the  Emorys,  the  Chases, 
Mrs.  Sartoris  and  old  Mrs.  Torrence  'and  Jack,  all 
jumbled  a  greeting  to  the  Havilands.  Of  Carol  they 
presently  caught  a  glimpse  standing  on  a  sheltered 
little  porch  with  Joe  Pickering's  sleek  head  beside  her. 
They  were  apparently  not  talking,  just  staring  quietly 
down  at  the  green  terraces  of  the  garden.  Rachael 
was  pouring  tea,  her  face  radiant  under  a  narrow- 
brimmed,  close  hat  loaded  with  cherries,  her  gown  of 
narrow  green  and  white  stripes  the  target  for  every 
pair  of  female  eyes  in  the  room. 

Charlotte  Haviland,  in  her  mother's  wake,  chanced 
to  encounter  Kenneth  Moran,  a  red-faced,  well-dressed 


THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL  95 

and  blushing  youth  of  her  own  age.  Her  complacent 
mother  was  witness  to  the  blameless  conversation  be- 
tween them. 

"How  do  you  do,  Kenneth  ?  I  didn't  know  you  were 
here!" 

"Oh,  how  do  you  do,  Charlotte  r  How  do  you  do, 
Isabelle?  I  didn't  know  you  were  here!" 

Isabelle  grinned  silently  in  horrible  embarrassment 
but  Charlotte  said,  quick-wittedly : 

"How  is  your  mother,  Kenneth,  and  Dorothy?" 

"She's  well — they're  well,  thank  you.  They're  here 
somewhere — at  least  Mother  is.  I  think  Dorothy's 
still  over  at  the  Clays',  playing  tennis!" 

He  laughed  violently  at  this  admission,  and  Char- 
lotte laughed,  too. 

"It's  lovely  weather  for  tennis,"  she  said  encourag- 
ingly. "We- 

"You "  Mr.  Moran  began.  "I  beg  your  par- 
don!" 

"No,  I  interrupted  you!" 

"No,  that  was  my  fault.  I  was  only  going  to  say 
that  we  ought  to  have  a  game  some  morning.  Going 
to  have  your  courts  in  order  this  year?" 

"Yes,  indeed,"  Charlotte  said,  with  what  was  great 
vivacity  for  her.  "Papa  has  had  them  all  rolled;  some 
men  came  down  from  town — we  had  it  all  sodded,  you 
know,  last  year." 

"Is  that  right?"  asked  Mr.  Moran,  as  one  deeply 
impressed.  "We  must  go  to  it — what?" 

"We  must!"  Charlotte  said  happily.  "Any  morn- 
ing, Kenneth!" 

"Sure,  I'll  telephone!"  agreed  the  youth  enthu- 
siastically. "I'm  trying  to  find  Kent  Parmalee;  his 
aunt  wants  him!"  he  added  mumblingly,  as  he  began 
to  vaguely  shoulder  his  way  through  the  crowd  again. 

"You'd  better  take  a  microscope!"  said  Charlotte 
wittily.  And  Mr.  Moran's  burst  of  laughter  and  his 
"That's  right,  too!"  came  back  to  them  as  he  went 
away. 


96  THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL 

"Dear  fellow!"  Mrs.  Haviland  said  warmly. 

"Isn't  he  nice!"  Charlotte  said,  fluttered  and  glow- 
ing. She  hoped  in  her  heart  that  she  would  meet  him 
again,  but  although  the  Havilands  stayed  until  nearly 
six  o'clock  they  did  not  do  so;  perhaps  because  shortly 
after  this  conversation  Kenneth  Moran  met  Miss 
Vivian  Sartoris,  and  they  took  a  plateful  of  rich,  crushy 
little  cakes  and  went  and  sat  under  the  stairs,  where 
they  took  alternate  bites  of  each  other's  mocha  and 
chocolate  confections,  and  where  Vivian  told  Kenneth 
all  about  a  complicated  and  thrilling  love  affair  be- 
tween herself  and  one  of  the  popular  actors  of  the  day. 
This  narrative  reflected  more  credit  upon  the  young 
woman's  imagination  than  upon  her  charms  had  the 
listener  but  suspected  it,  but  Kenneth  was  not  a  bril- 
liant boy,  and  they  had  a  lovely  time  over  their  con- 
fidences. 

Charlotte's  romantic  encounter  with  the  gentleman, 
however,  made  her  happy  for  several  hours,  and  colored 
her  cheeks  rosily. 

"You're  getting  pretty,  Carlotta!"  said  her  Aunt 
Rachael,  observing  this.  "Don't  drink  tea,  that's  a 
good  child!  You  can  stuff  on  cakes  and  chocolate  of 
course,  Isabelle,"  she  added,  "but  Charlotte's  com- 
plexion ought  to  be  her  first  thought  for  the  next  five 
years ! " 

"I  don't  really  want  any,"  asserted  Charlotte,  feel- 
ing wonderfully  grown-up  and  superior  to  the  claims 
of  a  nursery  appetite.  "But  can't  I  help  you,  Aunt 
Rachael?" 

"No,  my  dear,  you  can't!  I'm  through  the  worst  of 
it,  and  being  bored  slowly  but  firmly  to  death!  Ger- 
trude, I'm  just  saying  that  your  party  bores  me." 

"So  sorry  about  you,  Rachael!"  said  the  slim,  lace- 
clad  hostess  calmly.  "Here's  Judy  Moran!  Nearly 
six,  Judy,  and  we  dine  at  seven  on  Sundays.  But 
never  mind,  eat  and  drink  your  fill,  my  child." 

"Billy's  flirtin'  her  head  off  out  there!"  wheezed 
stout  Mrs.  Moran,  dropping  into  a  chair.  "Joe  and 


THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL  97 

Kent  and  young  Gregory  and  half  a  dozen  others  are 
out  there  with  her. " 

Mrs.  Breckenridge,  who  had  begun  to  frown,  relaxed 
in  her  chair. 

"Ah,  well,  there's  safety  in  numbers!"  she  said,  re- 
assured. "You  take  cream,  Judy,  and  two  lumps? 
Give  Mrs.  Moran  some  of  those  little  damp,  brown 
sandwiches,  Isabelle.  A  minute  ago  she  had  some  of 
the  most  heavenly  hot  toast  here,  but  she's  taken  it 
away  again!  I  wish  I  could  get  some  tea  myself,  but 
I've  tried  three  times  and  I  can't!" 

She  busied  herself  resignedly  with  tongs  and  teapot, 
and  as  Mrs.  Moran  bit  into  her  first  sandwiches,  and 
the  Haviland  girls  moved  away  at  a  word  from  their 
mother,  Rachael  raised  her  eyes  and  met  Warren 
Gregory's  look. 

He  was  standing,  ten  feet  away,  in  a  doorway,  his 
eyelids  half  dropped  over  amused  eyes,  his  hands  sunk 
in  his  coat  pockets.  Rachael  knew  that  he  had  been 
there  for  some  moments,  and  her  heart  struggled  and 
fluttered  like  a  bird  in  a  snare,  and  with  a  thrill  as  girlish 
as  Charlotte's  own  she  felt  the  color  rise  in  her  cheeks. 

"Come  have  some  tea,  Greg,"  she  said,  indicating  the 
empty  chair  beside  her. 

"Thank  you,  dear,"  he  answered,  his  head  close  to 
hers  for  a  moment  as  he  sat  down.  The -little  word  set 
Rachael's  heart  to  hammering  again.  She  glanced 
quickly  to  see  if  Mrs.  Moran  had  overheard,  but  that 
lady  had  at  last  caught  sight  of  the  maid  with  the  hot 
toast,  and  her  ample  back  was  turned  toward  the  tea- 
table. 

Indeed,  in  the  noisy,  disordered  room,  which  was 
beginning  to  be  deserted  by  straggling  groups  of  guests, 
they  were  quite  unobserved.  To  both  it  was  a  delicious 
moment,  this  little  domestic  interlude  of  tea  and  talk 
in  the  curved  window  of  the  dining-room,  lighted  by 
the  last  light  of  a  spring  day,  and  sweet  with  the  scent 
of  wilting  spring  flowers. 

"You  make  my  heart  behave  in  a  manner  not  to  be 


98  THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL 

described  in  words!"  said  Rachael,  her  fingers  touching 
his  as  she  handed  him  his  tea. 

"It  must  be  mine  you  feel/'  suggested  Warren 
Gregory;  "you  haven't  one — by  all  accounts!" 

"I  thought  I  hadn't,  Greg,  but,  upon  my  word " 

She  puckered  her  lips  and  raised  her  eyebrows  whim- 
sically, and  gave  her  head  a  little  shake.  Doctor 
Gregory  gave  her  a  shre\vdly  appraising  look,  sighed, 
and  stirred  his  tea. 

"If  ever  you  discover  yourself  to  be  the  possessor  of 
such  an  organ,  Rachael,"  said  he  dispassionately, 
"you  won't  joke  about  it  over  a  tea-table!  You'll 
wake  up,  my  friend;  we'll  see  something  besides  laughter 
in  those  eyes  of  yours,  and  hear  something  besides  cool 
reason  in  your  voice!  I  may  not  be  the  man  to  do 
it,  but  some  man  will,  some  day,  and — when  John 
Gilpin  rides " 

The  eyes  to  which  he  referred  had  been  fixed  in 
serene  confidence  upon  his  as  he  began  to  speak.  But 
a  second  later  Rachael  dropped  them,  and  they  rested 
upon  her  own  slender  hand,  lying  idle  upon  the  tea- 
table,  with  its  plain  gold  ring  guarded  by  a  dozen 
blazing  stones.  Had  he  really  stirred  her,  Warren 
Gregory  wondered,  as  he  watched  the  thoughtful  face 
under  the  bright,  cherry-loaded  hat. 

"You  know  how  often  there  is  neither  cool  reason 
nor  any  cause  for  laughter  in  my  life,  Greg,"  she  said, 
after  a  moment.  "As  for  love — I  don't  think  I  know 
what  love  is!  I  am  an  absolutely  calculating  woman, 
and  my  first,  last,  and  only  view  of  anything  is  just 
how  much  it  affects  me  and  my  comfort." 

"I  don't  believe  it!"  said  the  doctor. 

"It's  true.  And  why  shouldn't  it  be?"  Rachael 
gave  him  a  grave  smile.  "No  one,"  said  she  seriously, 
"ever — ever — ever  suggested  to  me  that  there  was 
anything  amiss  in  that  point  of  view!  Why  is  there?" 

"I  don't  understand  you,"  said  the  doctor  simply. 

"One  doesn't  often  talk  this  way,  I  suppose,"  she 
said  slowly.  "  But  there  is  a  funny  streak  of — what  shall 


THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL  99 

I  call  it? — conscience,  or  soul,  or  whatever  you  like,  in 
me.  Whether  I  get  it  from  rny  mother's  Irish  father 
or  my  father's  clergyman  grandfather,  I  don't  knowri 
but  I'm  eternally  defending  myself.  I  have  long  ses^ 
sions  with  myself,  when  I'm  judge  and  jury,  and  invari- 
ably I  find 'Not  Guilty!''' 

"Not  guilty  of  what?"  the  man  asked,  stirring  his 
untasted  cup. 

"Not  guilty  of  anything!"  she  answered,  with  a 
child's  puzzled  laugh.  "I  stick  to  my  bond,  I  dress  and 

talk  and  eat  and  go  about "  Her  voice  dropped; 

she  stared  absently  at  the  table. 

"But "  the  doctor  prompted. 

"But — that's  just  it — but  I'm  so  unhappy  all  the 
time!"  Rachael  confessed.  "We  all  seem  like  a  lot  of 
puppets,  to  me — like  Bander-log!  What  are  we  all 
going  round  and  round  in  circles  for,  and  who  gets  any 
fun  out  of  it  ?  What's  your  answer,  Greg — what  makes 
the  wheels  go  round  ? " 

"  Tis  love — 'tis  love — that  makes — etcetera,  etcet- 
era," supplied  the  doctor,  his  tone  less  flippant  than 
his  words. 

"Oh — love!"  Rachael's  voice  was  full  of  delicate 
scorn.  "I've  seen  a  great  deal  of  all  sorts  and  kinds  of 
love,"  she  went  on,  "and  I  must  say  that  I  consider 
love  a  very  much  overrated  article!  You're  laughing 
at  me,  you  bold  gossoon,  but  I  mean  it.  Clarence  loved 
Paula  madly,  kidnapped  her  from  a  boarding-school 
and  all  that,  but  I  don't  know  how  much  their  seven 
years  together  helped  the  world  go  round.  He  never 
loved  me,  never  once  said  he  did,  but  I've  made  him 
a  better  wife  than  she  did.  He  loves  Bill,  now,  and 
it's  the  worst  thing  in  the  world  for  her!" 

"  There's  some  love  for  you,"  said  Doctor  Gregory, 
glancing  across  the  room  to  the  figures  of  Miss  Leila 
Buckney  and  Mr.  Parker  Hoyt,  who  were  laughing  over 
a  cabinet  full  of  ivories. 

"I  wonder  just  what  would  happen  there  if  Parker 
lost  his  money  to-morrow — if  Aunt  Frothy  died  and 


100  THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL 

left  it  all  to  Magsie  Clay?"  Rachael  suggested,  smil- 
ing. 

The  doctor  answered  only  with  a  shrug. 

"More  than  that,"  pursued  Rachael,  "suppose  that 
Parker  woke  up  to-morrow  morning  and  found  his 
engagement  was  all  a  dream,  found  that  he  really 
hadn't  asked  Leila  to  marry  him,  and  that  he  was  as 
free  as  air.  Do  you  suppose  that  the  minute  he'd  had 
his  breakfast  he  would  go  straight  over  to  Leila's  house 
and  make  his  dream  a  heavenly  reality?  Or  would  he 
decide  that  there  was  no  hurry  about  it,  and  that  he 
might  as  well  rather  keep  away  from  the  Buckney  house 
until  he'd  made  up  his  mind?" 

"I  suppose  he  might  convince  himself  that  an  hour  or 
two's  delay  wouldn't  matter!"  said  the  doctor,  laughing. 

"If  you  talk  to  me  of  clothes,  or  of  jewelry,  or  of 
what  one  ought  to  send  a  bride,  and  what  to  say  in  a 
letter  of  condolence,  I  know  where  I  am,"  said  Rachael, 
"but  love,  I  freely  confess,  is  something  else  again!" 

"I  suppose  my  mother  has  known  great  love,"  said 
the  man,  after  a  pause.  "She  spends  her  days  in 
that  quiet  old  house  dreaming  about  my  father,  and 
my  brothers,  looking  at  their  pictures,  and  reading  their 
letters ' 

"But,  Greg,  she's  so  unhappy!"  Rachael  objected 
briskly.  "And  love — surely  the  contention  is  that  love 
ought  to  make  one  happy?" 

"Well,  I  think  her  memories  do  make  her  happy,  in 
a  way.  Although  my  mother  is  really  too  conscien- 
tious a  woman  to  be  happy,  she  worries  about  events 
that  are  dead  issues  these  twenty  years.  She  wonders 
if  my  brother  George  might  have  been  saved  if  she  had 
noticed  his  cough  before  she  did;  there  was  a  child  who 
died  at  birth,  and  then  there  are  all  the  memories  of 
my  father's  death — the  time  he  wanted  ice  water  and 
the  doctors  forbade  it,  and  he  looked  at  her  reproach- 
fully. Poor  Mother!" 

"You're  a  joy  to  her  anyway,  Greg,"  Rachael  said, 
as  he  paused. 


THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL  101 

"Charley  is,"  he  conceded  thoughtfully,  "and  in  a 
way  I  know  I  am!  But  not  in  every  way,  of  course,", 
Warren  Gregory  smiled  a  little  ruefully. 

"So  the  case  for  love  is  far  from  proved,"  Rachael 
summarized  cheerfully.  "There's  no  such  thing!" 

"On  the  contrary,  there  isn't  anything  else,  really, 
in  the  world,"  smiled  the  man.  "I've  seen  it  shining 
here  and  there;  we  get  away  from  it  here,  somewhat, 
I'll  admit" — his  glance  and  gesture  indicated  the  other 
occupants  of  the  room — "and,  like  you,  I  don't  quite 
know  where  we  miss  it,  and  what  it's  all  about,  but 
there  have  been  cases  in  our  wards,  for  instance:  girls 
whose  husbands  have  been  brought  in  all  smashed 
up- 

"  Girls  who  saw  themselves  worried  about  rent  and 
bread  and  butter!"  suggested  Rachael  in  delicate 
irony. 

"No,  I  don't  think  so.  And  mothers — mothers 
hanging  over  sick  children " 

The  women  nodded  quickly. 

"Yes,  I  know,  Greg.  There's  something  very  ap- 
pealing about  a  sick  kiddie.  Bill  was  ill  once,  just  after 
we  were  married,  such  a  little  thing  she  looked,  with  her 
hair  all  cut!  And  that  did — now  that  I  remember  it — < 
it  really  did  bring  Clarence  and  me  tremendously 
close.  We'd  sit  and  wait  for  news,  and  slip  out  for 
little  meals,  and  I'd  make  him  coffee  late  at  night.; 
I  remember  thinking  then  that  I  never  wanted  a  child, 
to  make  me  suffer  as  we  suffered  then!" 

"Mother  love,  then,  we  concede,"  Doctor  Gregory 
said,  smiling. 

"Well,  yes,  I  suppose  so.  Some  mothers.  I  don't 
believe  a  mother  like  Florence  ever  was  really  made  to 
suffer  through  loving.  However,  there  is  mother  love ! " ; 

"And  married  love." 

"No,  there  I  don't  agree.     While  the  novelty  lasts, 
while  the  passion  lasts — not  more  than  a  year  or  two.  ( 
Then   there's   just   civility — opening  the   city   house, 
opening  the  country  house,  entertaining,  going  about, 


102  THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL 

liking  some  things  about  each  other,  loathing  others, 
keeping  off  the  dangerous  places  until  the  crash  comes, 
or,  perhaps,  for  some  lucky  ones,  doesn't  come!" 

"What  a  mushy  little  sentimentalist  you  are, 
Rachael!"  Gregory  said  with  a  rather  uncomfortable 
laugh.  "You're  too  dear  and  sweet  to  talk  that  wayr 
It's  too  bad — it's  too  bad  to  have  you  feel  so!  I  wish 
that  I  could  carry  you  away  from  all  these  people 
here — just  for  a  while!  I'd  like  to  prescribe  that  sea 
beach  you  spoke  about  last  night!  Wouldn't  we  love 
our  desert  island!  Would  you  help  me  build  a  thatched 
hut,  and  a  mud  oven,  and  string  shells  in  your  hair, 
and  swim  way  out  in  the  green  breakers  with  me  ? " 

"And  what  makes  you  think  that  there  would  be 
some  saving  element  in  our  relationship?"  Rachael 
asked  in  a  low  voice.  "What  makes  you  think  that 
our  love  would  survive  the — the  dry-rot  of  life  ?  People 
would  send  us  silver  and  rugs,  and  there  would  be  a  lot 
of  engraving,  and  barrels  of  champagne,  and  newspaper 
men  trying  to  cross-examine  the  maids,  and  caterers 
all  over  the  place,  but  a  few  years  later,  wouldn't  it 
be  the  same  old  story?  You  talk  of  a  desert  island, 
and  swimming,  and  seaweed,  Greg!  But  my  ideas  of  a 
desert  island  isn't  Palm  Beach  with  commercial  photog- 
raphers snapping  at  whoever  sits  down  in  the  sand! 
Look  about  us,  Greg — who's  happy  ?  Who  isn't  watch- 
ing the  future  for  just  this  or  just  that  to  happen  before 
she  can  really  feel  content?  Young  girls  all  want  to 
be  older  and  more  experienced,  older  girls  want  to  be 
young;  this  one  is  waiting  for  the  new  house  to  be 
ready,  that  one — like  Florence — is  worrying  a  little 
for  fear  the  girls  won't  quite  make  a  hit!  Clarence 
worries  about  Billy,  I  worry  about  Clarence " 

"I  worry  about  you!"  said  Doctor  Gregory  as  she 
paused. 

"Of  course  you  do,  bless  your  heart!"  Rachael 
laughed.  "So  here  we  are,  the  rich  and  fashionable  and 
fortunate  people  of  the  world,  having  a  cloudless 
time!" 


THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL  103 

"You  know,  it's  a  shame  to  eat  this  way — ruin  our 
dinners!"  said  Mrs.  Moran,  suddenly  entering  the 
conversation.  "Stop  flirting  with  Greg,  Rachael,  and 
give  me  some  more  tea.  One  lump,  and  only  about  half 
a  cup,  dear.  Tell  me  a  good  way  to  get  thin,  Greg! 
Agnes  Chase  says  her  doctor  has  a  diet — you  eat  all 
you  want,  and  you  get  thin.  Agnes  says  Lou  has  a 
friend  who  has  taken  off  forty-eight  pounds.  Do  you 
believe  it,  Greg?  Fm  too  fat,  you  know " 

"You  carry  it  well,  Judy,"  said  Rachael,  still  a  little 
shaken  by  the  abruptly  closed  conversation,  as  the 
doctor,  with  a  conscious  thrill,  perceived. 

"Thank  you,  my  dear,  that's  what  they  all  say. 
But  Fd  just  as  soon  somebody  else  should  carry  it  for 
awhile!" 

"Listen,  Rachael,"  said  their  hostess,  coming  up 
suddenly,  and  speaking  quickly  and  lightly,  "Clarence 
is  here.  Where  in  the  name  of  everything  sensible  is 
Billy?" 

"Clarence!"  said  Rachael,  uncomfortable  premoni- 
tion clutching  at  her  heart. 

"Yes;  you  come  and  talk  to  him,  Rachael,"  Mrs. 
Whittaker  said,  in  the  same  quick  undertone.  "He's 
all  right,  of  course,  but  he's  just  a  little  fussy — — " 

"Oh,  if  he  wouldn't  do  these  things!"  Rachael  said 
apprehensively  as  she  rose.  "I  left  him  all  comfort- 
able— Joe  Butler  was  coming  in  to  see  him!  It  does 
exasperate  me  so!  However!" 

"Of  course  it  does,  but  we  all  know  Clarence!"  Mrs. 
Whittaker  said  soothingly.  "He  seems  to  have  got  it 

into   his  head  that  Billy You  go  talk  to  him, 

Rachael,  and  Fll  send  her  in." 

"  Billy's  doing  no  harm !  What  did  he  say  ? "  Rachael 
asked  impatiently. 

"Oh,  nothing  definite,  of  course.  But  as  soon  as  I 
said  that  Billy  was  here — he'd  asked  if  she  was — he 
said,  'Then  I  suppose  Mr.  Pickering  is  here,  too!" 

"He's  the  one  person  in  the  world  afraid  of  talk 
about  Billy,  yet  if  he  starts  it,  he  can  blame  no  one  but 


104  THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL 

himself!"  Rachael  said,  as  she  turned  toward  the  ad- 
joining room.  An  unexpected  ordeal  like  this  always 
annoyed  her.  She  was  equal  to  it,  of  course;  she  could 
smooth  Clarence's  ruffled  feelings,  keep  a  serene  front 
to  the  world,  and  get  her  family  safely  home  before  the 
storm;  she  had  done  it  many  times  before.  But  it 
was  so  unnecessary!  It  was  so  unnecessary  to  exhibit 
the  Breckenridge  weaknesses  before  the  observant 
Emorys,  before  that  unconscionable  old  gossip  Peter 
Pomeroy,  and  to  the  cool,  pitying  gaze  of  all  her  world ! 

She  found  Clarence  the  centre  of  a  small  group  in  the 
long  drawing-room.  He  and  Frank  Whittaker  were 
drinking  cocktails;  the  others — Jeanette  VanderwalL 
Vera  Villalonga,  a  flushed,  excitable  woman  older  than 
Rachael,  and  Jimmy  and  Estelle  Hoyt — had  refused 
the  drink,  but  were  adding  much  noise  and  laughter  to 
the  newcomer's  welcome. 

"Hello,  Clarence"  Rachael  said,  appraising  the 
situation  rapidly  as  she  came  up.  "I  would  have 
waited  for  you  if  I  had  thought  you  would  come!" 

"I  just — just  thought  I  would — look  in,"  Clarence 
said  slowly  but  steadily.  "Didn't  want  to  miss  any- 
thing. You  all  seem  to  be  having — having  a  pretty 
good  time!" 

"It's  been  a  lovely  tea,"  Rachael  assured  him  en- 
thusiastically. "But  I'm  just  going.  Billy's  out  here 
on  the  porch  with  a  bunch  of  youngsters;  I  was  just 
going  after  her.  Don't  let  Frank  give  you  any  more  of 
that  stuff,  Clancy.  Stop  it,  Frank!  It  always  gives 
him  a  splitting  headache ! " 

The  tone  was  irreproachably  casual  and  cheerful, 
but  Clarence  scowled  at  his  wife  significantly.  His 
dignity,  as  he  answered,  was  tremendous. 

"I  can  judge  pretty  well  of  what  hurts  me  and  what 
doesn't,  thank  you,  Rachael,"  he  said  coldly,  with  a 
look  ominous  with  warning. 

"That's  just  what  you  can't,  dear,"  Mrs.  Whittaker, 
who  had  joined  the  group,  said  pleasantly.  "Take 
that  stuff  away,  Frank,  and  don't  be  so  silly!  If 


THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL  105 

Frank,"  she  added  to  the  group,  "hadn't  been  at  it  all 
afternoon  himself  he  wouldn't  be  such  an  idiot." 

"Greg  says  he'll  take  us  home,  Clarence,"  Rachael 
said,  in  a  matter-of-fact  tone.  "It's  a  shame  to  carry 
you  off  when  you've  just  got  here,  but  I'm  going." 

"Where's  Billy?';  Clarence  asked  stubbornly. 

" Right  here!"  his  wife  answered  reassuringly.  And 
to  her  great  relief  Billy  substantiated  the  statement  by 
coming  up  to  them,  a  little  uneasy,  as  her  stepmother 
was,  over  her  father's  appearance,  yet  confident  that 
there  was  no  real  cause  for  a  scene.  To  get  him  home  as 
fast  as  possible,  and  let  the  trouble,  whatever  it  might 
be,  break  there,  was  the  thought  in  both  their  minds. 

"Had  enough  tea,  Monkey?"  said  Rachael  pleas- 
antly, aware  of  her  husband's  sulphurous  gaze,  but 
carefully  ignoring  it.  "Then  say  day-day  to  Aunt 
Gertrude!" 

"If  Greg  takes  you  home,  send  Alfred  back  with  the 
runabout  for  me,"  Billy  suggested. 

"So  that  you  can  stay  a  little  longer,  eh?"  said 
Clarence,  in  so  ugly  a  tone  and  with  so  leering  a  look 
for  his  daughter  that  Rachael's  heart  for  a  moment 
failed  her.  "That's  a  very  nice  little  plan,  my  dear, 
but,  as  it  happens,  I  came  over  in  the  runabout!  I'm 
a  fool,  you  know,"  said  Clarence  sullenly.  "I  can  be 
hoodwinked  and  deceived  and  made  a  fool  of — oh, 
sure!  But  there's  a  limit!  There's  a  limit,"  he  said 
in  stupid  anger  to  his  wife.  "And  if  I  say  that  I  don't 
like  certain  friendships  for  my  daughter,  it  means  that 
/  don't  like  certain  friendships  for  my  daughter,  do  you 
get  me  ?  That's  clear  enough,  isn't  it,  Gertrude  ? " 

"It's  perfectly  clear  that  you're  acting  like  an  idiot, 
Clancy,"  Mrs.  Whittaker  said  briskly.  "Nobody's 
trying  to  hoodwink  you;  it  isn't  being  done  this  year! 
You've  got  an  awful  katzenjammer  from  the  Stokes'  din- 
ner, and  all  you  men  ought  to  be  horsewhipped  for  letting 
yourselves  in  for  such  a  party.  Now  if  you  and  Rachael 
want  to  go  home  in  the  runabout,  I'll  send  Billy  straight 
after  you  with  Kenneth  or  Kent " 


106  THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL 

"I'll  take  Billy  home,"  Clarence  said  heavily. 

By  this  time  Rachael  was  so  exquisitely  conscious  of 
watching  eyes  and  listening  ears,  so  agonized  over  the 
realization  that  the  fuss  Clarence  Breckenridge  made 
at  the  Whittakers'  over  Joe  Pickering  would  be  handed 
down,  a  precious  tradition,  over  every  tea  and  dinner 
table  for  weeks  to  come,  so  miserably  aware  that  a 
dozen  persons,  at  least,  among  the  audience  were  rind- 
ing in  this  scene  welcome  confirmation  of  all  the  odds 
and  ends  of  gossip  that  were  floating  about  concerning 
Billy,  that  she  would  have  consented  blindly  to  any  ar- 
rangement that  might  terminate  the  episode. 

It  was  not  the  first  time  that  Clarence  had  made 
himself  ridiculous  and  his  family  conspicuous  when  not 
quite  himself.  At  almost  every  tea  party  and  at  every 
dance  and  dinner  at  least  one  of  the  guests  similarly 
distinguished  himself.  Rachael  knew  that  there  would 
be  no  blame  in  her  friends'  minds,  but  she  hated  their 
laughter. 

"Do  that,  then,"  she  agreed  quickly.  "Greg  will 
bring  me!" 

"By  George,"  said  Clarence  darkly  to  his  hostess, 
"I'd  be  a  long  time  doing  that  to  you,  Gertrude!  If 
you  had  a  daughter-* " 

"My  dear  Clarence,  your  daughter  is  old  enough  to 
know  her  own  mind!"  Mrs.  Whittaker  said  impa- 
tiently. 

"And  you're  only  making  me  conspicuous  for  some- 
thing that's  entirely  in  your  own  brain!"  blazed  Billy. 
As  usual,  her  influence  over  her  father  was  instantane- 
ous. 

"Because  I  love  you,  you  know  that,"  he  said 
meekly.  "I — I  may  be  too  careful,  Billy.  But '' 

"Nonsense!"  said  Billy  in  a  nervous  undertone  close 
to  tears.  "If  you  loved  me  you'd  have  some  con- 
sideration for  me!" 

"When  I  say  a  thing,  don't  you  say  it's  nonsense," 
Clarence  said  with  heavy  fatherly  dignity.  "I'll  tell 
you  why — because  I  won't  stand  for  it!" 


THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL  107 

"Oh,  aren't  they  hopeless!"  Mrs.  Whittaker  asked 
with  an  indulgent  laugh  and  a  glance  for  Rachael. 

"Well,  I  won't  be  taken  home  like  a  bad  child!" 
flamed  Billy. 

"I'd  like  to  bump  both  your  silly  heads  together, ' 
Rachael  exclaimed,  steering  them  toward  the  porch. 
"Yes,  you  bring  the  car  around,  Kent,"  she  added  to 
one  of  the  onlookers  in  an  urgent  aside.  "Come  on, 
Bill,  get  in.  Get  in,  Clarence!  Don't  be  an  utter 
fool " 

In  another  moment  it  was  settled.     Billy,  looking 

fretty  and  sulky,  said:  "Good-bye,  Aunt  Gertrude! 
'm  sorry  for  this,  but  it's  not  my  fault ! "  Frank  Whit- 
taker  almost  bodily  lifted  his  somewhat  befuddled 
guestvinto  the  car,  the  door  of  the  runabout  went  home 
with  a  bang.  Billy  snatched  the  wheel,  and  Clarence, 
with  an  attempt  at  a  martyred  expression,  sank  back 
in  his  seat.  The  car  rocked  out  of  sight,  and  was 
gone. 

Rachael,  in  silent  dignity,  turned  about  on  the  wide 
brick  steps  to  reenter  the  house.  Where  there  had 
been  a  dozen  interested  faces  a  moment  ago  there 
was  no  one  now  except  Gertrude  Whittaker,  whose 
expression  betrayed  her  as  tactfully  divided  between 
unconcern  and  sympathy,  and  Frank  Whittaker,  who 
was  looking  thoughtfully  at  the  cloudless  spring  sky 
as  one  anticipating  a  change  of  weather. 

Rachael  caught  Mrs.  Whittaker's  eye  and  shrugged 
her  shoulders  wearily.  She  began  slowly  to  mount  the 
steps. 

"It  was  nothing  at  all!"  said  the  hostess  cheerfully, 
adding  immediately,  "You  poor  thing!" 

"All  in  the  day's  work!"  Rachael  said,  on  a  long 
sigh.  And  turning  to  the  man  who  stood  silently  in 
the  doorway  she  asked,  with  all  the  confidence  of  a 
weary  child,  "Will  you  take  me  home,  Greg?" 

Her  glance  and  the  doctor's  met.  In  the  last  soft, 
brilliant  light  of  the  afternoon  long  shadows  fell  from 
the  great  trees  nearby.  Rachael's  green  and  white 


108  THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL 

gown  was  dappled  with  blots  of  golden  light,  her 
troubled,  glowing  eyes  were  of  an  almost  unearthly 
beauty,  and  her  slender  figure,  against  the  background 
of  colonial  white  paint  and  red  brick,  had  all  the  tremu- 
lous, reedy  grace  of  a  young  girl's  figure.  In  the  long 
look  the  two  exchanged  there  was  some  new  element 
born  of  this  wonderful  hour  of  spring,  and  of  the 
woman's  need,  and  the  man's  nearness.  Both  knew  it, 
although  Rachael  did  not  speak  again,  and,  also  in 
silence,  the  doctor  nodded,  and  went  past  her  down  the 
steps  for  his  car. 

"Too  bad!"  Mrs.  Whittaker  said,  coming  back  from 
a  brief  disappearance  beyond  the  doorway.  "  But  such 
things  will  happen!  It's  too  bad,  Rachael,  but  what 
can  one  do  ?  Are  you  going  to  be  warm  enough  ?  Sure  ? 
Don't  give  it  another  thought,  dear,  nobody  noticed 
it,  anyway.  And  listen — any  chance  of  a  game  to- 
night? I  could  send  over  for  you.  Marian's  with 
me,  you  know,  and  we  could  get  Peter  or  Greg  for  a 
fourth." 

"No  chance  at  all,"  Rachael  said  bitterly.  She  had 
always  loved  to  play  bridge  with  Greg;  under  the 
circumstances  it  would  be  a  delicious  experience.  She 
played  brilliantly,  and  Greg,  when  he  was  matched 
by  partner  and  opponents,  became  absorbed  in  the 
game  with  absolutely  fanatic  fervor.  Rachael  had  a 
vision  of  her  own  white  hand  spreading  out  the  cards, 
of  the  nod  and  glance  that  said  clearly:  "Great  bid- 
ding, Rachael;  we're  as  safe  as  a  church!" 

Clarence  did  not  play  bridge,  he  did  not  care  for 
music,  for  books,  for  pictures.  He  played  poker,  and 
sometimes  tennis,  and  often  golf;  a  selfish,  solitary 
game  of  golf,  in  which  he  cared  only  for  his  own  play 
and  his  own  score,  and  paid  no  attention  to  anyone 
else. 

Gregory's  great  car  came  round  the  drive.  "Good- 
bye, Gertrude,"  said  Rachael  with  an  unsmiling  nod  of 
farewell,  and  Mrs.  Whittaker  thought,  as  Elinor  Van- 
derwall  had  thought  the  night  before,  that  she  had 


THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL  109 

never  seen  Rachael  look  so  serious  before,  and  that 
things  in  the  Breckenridge  family  must  be  coming  rap- 
idly to  a  crisis. 

Doctor  Gregory,  as  the  lovely  Mrs.  Breckenridge 
packed  her  striped  green  and  white  ruffles  trimly  beside 
him,  turned  upon  her  a  quick  and  affectionate  smile. 
It  asked  no  confidence,  it  expressed  no  sympathy,  it 
was  simply  the  satisfied  glance  of  a  man  pleased  with 
the  moment  and  with  the  company  in  which  he  found 
himself.  To  Rachael,  overwrought,  nervous,  and 
ashamed,  no  mood  could  have  been  more  delicately 
tuned.  She  sank  back  against  the  deep  upholstery 
luxuriously,  and  drew  a  long  breath,  inhaling  the  de- 
licious air  of  early  summer  twilight.  What  a  sweet, 
clean,  solid  sort  of  friend  Greg  was,  thought  Rachael, 
noticing  the  clever,  well-groomed  hands  on  the  wheel, 
the  kindly  earnestness  of  the  handsome,  sun-browned 
face,  the  little  wrinkle  between  the  dark  eyes  that 
meant  that  Doctor  Gregory  was  thinking. 

"Straight  home?"  said  he,  giving  her  a  smiling 
glance. 

"If  you  please,  Greg,"  Rachael  answered,  a  sudden 
vision  of  the  probable  state  of  affairs  at  home  causing 
her  to  end  the  words  with  a  quick  sigh. 

Silence.  They  were  running  smoothly  along  the 
lovely  country  roads  that  were  bowered  so  generously 
in  fresh  green  that  great  feathery  boughs  of  maple  and 
locust  brushed  against  the  car.  The  birds  were  still 
now,  and  the  sunlight  gone,  although  all  the  world  was 
still  flooded  with  a  soft  golden  light.  The  first  dew 
had  fallen,  bringing  forth  from  the  dust  a  sweet  and  pun- 
gent odor. 

"Thinking  about  what  I  said  to  you  last  night?" 
asked  the  doctor  suddenly. 

"I  am  afraid  I  am — a  little,"  Rachael  answered, 
meeting  his  quick  side  glance  with  another  as  fleet. 

"And  what  do  you  think  about  it?"  he  asked.  For 
answer  Rachael  only  sighed  wearily,  and  for  a  while 
they  went  on  in  silence.  But  when  they  had  almost 


110  THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL 

reached  the  Breckenridge  gateway  Doctor  Gregory  spoke 
again. 

"Do  you  often  have  a  scene  like  that  one  just  now 
to  get  through  ? " 

The  color  rushed  into  Rachael's  face  at  his  friendly, 
not  too  sympathetic,  tone.  She  was  still  shaken  from 
the  encounter  with  Clarence,  and  still  thrilling  to  the 
memory  of  her  talk  with  Warren  Gregory  last  night, 
and  it  was  with  some  new  quality  of  hesitation,  almost 
of  bewilderment,  that  she  said: 

"That — that  wasn't  anything  unusual,  Greg." 

Doctor  Gregory  stopped  the  car  at  the  foot  of  her 
own  steps,  the  noise  of  the  engine  suddenly  ceased, 
and  they  faced  each  other,  their  heads  close  together. 

"But  since  last  night/5  Rachael  added,  smiling  after 
a  moment's  thought,  "I  know  I  have  a  friend.  I 
believe  now,  when  the  crash  comes,  and  the  whole 
world  begins  to  talk,  that  one  person  will  not  misjudge 
me,  and  one  person  will  not  misunderstand." 

"Only  that?"  he  asked.  She  raised  her  glorious 
eyes  quickly,  trying  to  smile,  and  it  brought  his  heart 
to  a  quick  stop  to  see  that  they  were  brimming  with 
tears. 

"Only  that?"  she  echoed.  "My  dear  Greg,  after 
seven  such  years  as  I  have  had  as  Clarence's  wife,  that 
is  not  a  small  thing!" 

Their  hands  were  together  now,  and  he  felt  hers 
cling  suddenly  as  she  said: 

"Don't — don't  let  me  drag  you  into  this,  Greg!" 

"This  is  what  I  want  you  to  believe,"  Warren  Greg- 
ory told  her,  "that  you  are  not  his  wife,  you  are  noth- 
ing to  him  any  more.  And  some  day,  some  day,  you're 
going  to  be  happy  again!" 

A  wonderful  color  flooded  her  face;  she  gave  him  a 
look  half-frightened,  half-won.  Then  with  an  almost 
inaudible  "Good-night,"  she  was  gone. 

Warren  Gregory  stood  watching  the  slender  figure 
mount  the  steps.  She  did  not  turn  to  nod  him  a  fare- 
well, but  vanished  like  a  shadow  into  the  soft  shadows 


THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL  111 

of  the  doorway!  Yet  he  was  enough  a  lover  to  find 
consolation  in  that.  Rachael  Breckenridge  was  not 
flirting  now,  forces  far  greater  than  any  she  had  ever 
known  were  threatening  the  shallow  waters  of  her  life, 
and  she  might  well  be  troubled  and  afraid. 

"She  is  not  his  wife  any  more,"  Warren  Gregory 
said,  half  aloud,  as  he  turned  back  to  his  car.  "From 
now  on  she  belongs  to  me!  She  shall  be  mine!" 


CHAPTER  V 

FROM  that  day  on  a  bright  undercurrent  made 
bearable  the  trying  monotony  of  her  life.  Rachael 
did  not  at  once  recognize  the  rapid  change  that  began 
to  take  place  in  her  own  feelings,  but  she  did  realize 
that  Warren  Gregory's  attitude  had  altered  every- 
thing in  her  world.  He  was  flirting,  of  course,  he  was 
only  half  in  earnest;  but  it  was  such  delicious  flirting, 
it  was  a  half-earnestness  so  wonderfully  satisfying  and 
sweet. 

She  did  not  see  him  every  day,  sometimes  she  did 
not  see  him  for  two  or  three  days,  but  no  twenty-four 
hours  went  by  without  a  message  from  him.  A  day 
or  two  after  the  troubled  Sunday  on  which  he  had 
driven  her  home  she  stood  silent  a  moment,  in  the 
lower  hall,  one  hand  resting  on  the  little  box  of  damp, 
delicious  Freesia  lilies,  the  fingers  of  the  other  twisting 
his  card.  The  little  message  scribbled  on  the  card 
meant  nothing  to  other  eyes,  just  the  two  words  "Good 
morning!"  but  in  some  subtle  way  they  signified  to 
her  a  morning  in  a  wider  sense,  a  dawning  of  love  and 
joy  and  peace  in  her  life.  The  next  day  they  met — 
and  how  wonderful  these  casual  meetings  among  a 
hundred  gay,  unseeing  folk,  had  suddenly  become! — - 
and  on  the  following  day  he  came  to  tea  with  her,  a 
little  hour  whose  dramatic  and  emotional  beauty  was 
enhanced  rather  than  spoiled  for  them  both  when 
Clarence  and  Billy  and  some  friends  came  in  to  end  it. 

On  Thursday  the  doctor's  man  delivered  into  Mrs. 
Breckenridge's  hand  a  package  which  proved  to  be  a 
little  book  on  Browning  of  which  he  had  spoken  to 
her.  On  the  fly  leaf  was  written  in  the  donor's  small, 
fine  handwriting,  "R.  from  G.  The  way  was  Cap- 

112 


THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL  113 

onsacchi."  Rachael  put  the  book  on  her  bedside  table, 
and  wore  June  colors  all  day  for  the  giver's  sake. 
Greg,  she  thought  with  a  fluttering  heart,  was  cer- 
tainly taking  things  with  rather  a  high  hand.  Could  it 
be  possible,  could  it  be  possible,  that  he  cared  for  a 
woman  at  last,  and  was  she,  Rachael  Breckenridge,  a 
neglected  wife,  a  penniless  dependent  upon  an  unloving 
husband,  that  woman? 

Half-forgotten  emotions  of  girlhood  began  to  stir 
within  her;  she  flushed,  smiled,  sighed  at  her  own 
thoughts,  she  dreamed,  and  came  bewildered  out  of  her 
dreams,  like  a  child.  What  Clarence  did,  what  Carol 
did,  mattered  no  longer;  she,  Rachael,  again  had  the 
centre  of  the  stage. 

Weeks  flew  by.  The  question  of  summer  plans  arose : 
the  Villalongas  wanted  all  the  Breckenridges  in  their 
Canadian  camp  for  as  much  as  possible  of  July  and 
August.  Clarence  regarded  the  project  with  the  em- 
bittered eye  of  utter  boredom,  Billy  was  far  from  en- 
thusiastic, Rachael  made  no  comment.  She  stood, 
like  a  diver,  ready  for  the  chilling  plunge  from  which 
she  might  never  rise,  yet,  after  which,  there  was  one 
glorious  chance:  she  might  find  herself  swimming 
strongly  to  freedom.  The  sunny,  safe  meadows  and 
the  warm,  blue  sky  were  there  in  sight,  there  was  only 
that  dark  and  menacing  stretch  of  waters  to  breast, 
that  black,  smothering  descent  to  endure. 

Now  was  the  time.  The  pretence  that  was  her 
married  life  must  end,  she  must  be  free.  In  her  thought 
she  went  no  farther.  Rachael  outwardly  was  no  better 
than  the  other  women  of  her  world;  inwardly  there 
was  in  her  nature  an  instinctive  niceness,  a  hatred 
for  what  was  coarse  or  base.  For  years  the  bond  be- 
tween her  and  Clarence  Breckenridge  had  been  only 
;  an  empty  word.  But  it  was  there,  none  the  less,  and 
before  she  could  put  any  new  plan  into  definite  form, 
even  in  her  own  heart,  it  must  be  broken. 

Many  of  the  women  she  knew  would  not  have  been 
so  fine.  For  more  than  one  of  them  no  tie  was  sacred. 


114  THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL 

and  no  principle  as  strong  as  their  own  desire  for  pleas- 
ure. But  she  was  different,  as  all  the  world  should 
see.  No  carefully  chaperoned  girl  could  be  more  care- 
fully guarded  than  Rachael  would  be  guarded  by  her- 
self until  that  time — the  thought  of  it  put  her  senses 
to  utter  rout — until  such  time  as  she  might  put  her 
hand  boldly  in  Gregory's,  and  take  her  place  honorably 
by  his  side. 

The  taste  of  freedom  already  began  to  intoxicate  her 
even  while  she  still  went  about  Clarence's  house,  bore 
his  moods  in  silence,  and  imparted  to  Billy  that  half- 
scornful,  half-humorous  advice  that  alone  seemed  to 
penetrate  the  younger  woman's  shell  of  utter  perversity. 
Mrs.  Breckenridge,  as  usual  followed  by  admiring  and 
envious  and  curious  eyes,  walked  in  a  world  of  her  own, 
entirely  oblivious  of  the  persons  and  events  about  her, 
wrapped  in  a  breathless  dream  too  exquisitely  bright  to 
be  real. 

It  was  a  dream  still  so  simple  and  vague  that  she  was 
not  conscious  of  wishing  for  Warren  Gregory's  presence, 
or  of  being  much  happier  when  they  were  together  than 
when  she  was  deliciously  alone  with  her  thoughts  of 
him. 

About  a  month  after  the  Whittaker  tea  Rachael 
found  herself  seated  in  the  tile-floored  tea-room  at  the 
country  club  with  Florence.  There  had  been  others 
in  the  group,  theoretically  for  tea,  but  these  were  scat- 
tered now,  and  among  the  various  bottles  and  glasses 
on  the  table  there  was  no  sign  of  a  teacup. 

"So  glad  to  see  you  alone  a  moment,  Rachael — • 
one  never  does,"  said  Florence.  "Tell  me,  do  you  go  to 
theVillalongas'?" 

"Clarence  and  Billy  will,  I  suppose,"  the  other 
woman  said  with  an  enigmatic  smile. 

"But  not  you?" 

"Perhaps;  I  don't  know,  Florence."  Rachael's 
serene  eyes  roved  the  summer  landscape  contentedly. 
Mrs.  Haviland  looked  a  little  puzzled. 


THE  HEART  OP  RACHAEL  115 

"Things  are  better,  aren't  they,  dear?"  she  asked 
delicately. 

"Things?" 

"Between  you  and  Clarence,  I  mean." 

"Oh!     Yes,  perhaps  they  are.     Changed,  perhaps." 

"How  do  you  mean  changed?"  Florence  was  in- 
stantly in  arms. 

"Well,  it  couldn't  go  on  that  way  forever,  Florence," 
Rachael  said  pleasantly. 

Rendered  profoundly  uneasy  by  her  tone,  the  other 
woman  was  silent  for  a  moment. 

"Perhaps  it  is  just  as  well  to  make  different  plans 
for  the  summer,"  she  said  presently.  "We  all  get  on 
each  other's  nerves  sometimes,  and  change  or  separation 
does  us  a  world  of  good." 

"Doctor  Gregory!  Doctor  Gregory!  At  the  tele- 
phone ! "  chanted  a  club  attendant,  passing  through  the 
tea-room. 

"On  the  tennis  courts,"  Mrs.  Breckenridge  said, 
without  turning  her  head.  "You  had  better  make  it  a 
message:  explain  that  he's  playing!" 

"I  didn't  see  him  go  down,"  remarked  Florence, 
diverted. 

"His  car  came  in  about  half  an  hour  ago;  he  and 
Joe  Butler  went  down  to  the  courts  without  coming  into 
the  club  at  all,"  Rachael  said. 

"I  wonder  what  he's  doing  this  summer?"  mused  the 
older  lady. 

"I  believe  he's  going  to  take  his  mother  abroad 
with  him,"  said  the  well-informed  Rachael.  "She'll 
visit  some  friends  in  England  and  Ireland,  and  then 
join  him.  He's  to  do  the  Alps  with  someone,  and 
meet  her  in  Rome." 

"She  tell  you?"  asked  Mrs.  Haviland,  interested. 

"He  did,"  the  other  said  briefly. 

"I  didn't  know  she  had  any  friends,"  was  Florence's 
next  comment.  "I  don't  see  her  visiting,  somehow!" 

"Oh,  my  dear.  Old  Catholic  families  with  chapels 
in  their  houses,  and  nuns,  and  Mother  Superiors!" 


U6  THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL 

Rachael's  tone  was  light,  but  as  she  spoke  a  cold  prem- 
onition seized  her  heart.  She  fell  silent. 

A  moment  later  Charlotte,  who  had  been  hovering 
uncertainly  in  the  doorway  of  the  room,  came  out  to 
join  her  mother  with  a  brightly  spontaneous  air. 

"Oh,  here  you  are,  M'ma!"  said  Charlotte.  "Are 
you  ready  to  go  ? " 

"Been  having  a  nice  time,  dear?"  her  mother  asked 
fondly. 

"Very,"  Charlotte  said.  "I've  been  looking  over 
old  magazines  in  the  library — so  interesting!" 

This  literary  enthusiasm  struck  no  answering  spark 
from  the  matron 

"In  the  library!"  said  Florence  quickly.  "Why,  I 
thought  you  were  with  Charley!' 

"Oh,  no,  M'ma,"  answered  Charlotte,  with  her  little 
air  that  was  not  quite  prim  and  not  quite  mincing, 
and  that  yet  suggested  both.  "Charley  left  me  just 
after  you  did;  he  had  an  engagement  with  Straker." 
She  reached  for  a  macaroon,  and  ate  it  with  a  brightly 
disengaged  air,  her  eyes,  behind  their  not  unbecom- 
ing glasses,  studying  the  golf  links  with  absorbed 
interest. 

"Anyone  else  in  the  library?"  Florence  asked  in  a 
dissatisfied  tone. 

"No.  I  had  it  all  to  myself!"  the  girl  answered 
pleasantly. 

"Why  didn't  you  go  down  to  the  courts,  dear?  I 
think  Papa  is  playing!" 

"I  didn't  think  of  it,  M'ma,"  said  Charlotte  lucidly. 

"What  a  dreadful  age  it  is,"  mused  Rachael.  "I 
wonder  which  phase  is  hardest  to  deal  with:  Billy  or 
poor  little  Carlotta  ? "  Aloud,  from  the  fulness  of  her 
own  happiness,  she  said:  "Suppose  you  walk  down  to 
the  courts  with  me,  Infant,  and  we  will  see  what's 
going  on  * " 


f  M'ma  doesn't  object,"  said  the  dutiful  daughter. 
"No,  go  along,"  Florence  said  with  vague  discon- 
tent.     "I've  got  to  do  some  telephoning,  anyway." 


THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL  117 

Charlotte,  being  eighteen,  could  think  of  nothing 
but  herself,  and  Rachael,  wrapped  in  her  own  romance, 
was  amused,  as  they  walked  along,  to  see  how  different 
her  display  of  youthful  egotism  was  from  Billy's,  and 
yet  how  typical  of  all  adolescence. 

"Isn't  it  a  wonderful  afternoon,  Aunt  Rachael?" 
Charlotte  said,  as  one  in  duty  bound  to  be  entertaining. 
"I  do  think  they've  picked  out  such  a  charming  site 
for  the  club!"  And  then,  as  Rachael  did  not  answer, 
being  indeed  content  to  drink  in  the  last  of  the  long 
summer  day  in  silence,  Charlotte  went  on,  with  an  air 
blended  of  comprehension  and  amusement:  "Poor 
M'ma,  she  would  so  like  me  to  be  a  little,  fluffy, 
empty-headed  butterfly  of  a  girl,  and  I  know  I  dis- 
appoint her!  It  isn't  that  I  don't  like  boys,"  pursued 
Charlotte,  the  smooth  and  even  stream  of  her  words 
beginning  to  remind  Rachael  of  Florence,  "or  that  they 
don't  like  me;  they're  always  coming  to  me  with  their 
confidences  and  asking  my  advice,  but  it's  just  that  I 
can't  take  them  seriously.  If  a  boy  wants  to  kiss  me, 
why,  I  say  to  him  in  perfect  good  faith,  'Why  shouldn't 
you  kiss  me,  John?  When  I'm  fond  of  a  person  I 
always  like  to  kiss  him,  and  I'm  sure  I'm  fond  of  you!"; 
Charlotte  stopped  for  a  short  laugh  full  of  relish.  "Of 
course  that  takes  the  wind  out  of  their  sails  com- 
pletely," she  went  on,  "and  we  have  a  good  laugh  over 
it,  and  are  all  the  better  friends!  That  is,"  said  Char- 
lotte, thoroughly  enjoying  herself,  "I  treat  my  men 
friends  exactly  as  I  do  my  girl  friends.  Do  you  think 
that's  so  extraordinary,  Aunt  Rachael?  Because  I 
can't  do  anything  different,  you  know — really  I  can't!" 

"Just  be  natural — that's  the  best  way,"  said  Rachael 
from  the  depths  of  an  icy  boredom. 

"Of  course,  some  day  I  shall  marry,"  the  girl  added 
in  brisk  decision,  "because  I  love  a  home,  and  I  love 
children,  and  I  think  I  would  be  a  good  mother  to 
children.  But  meanwhile,  my  books  and  my  friends 
mean  a  thousand  times  more  to  me  than  all  these 
stupid  boys!  Why  is  it  other  girls  are  so  crazy  about 


118  THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL 

boys,  Aunt  Rachael?"  asked  Charlotte,  brightly  sen- 
sible. "Of  course  I  like  them,  and  all  that,  but  I  can't 
see  the  sense  of  all  these  notes  and  telephones  and 
flirtations.  I  told  Vivvie  Sartoris  that  I  was  afraid  I 
knew  all  these  boys  too  well;  of  course  Jack  and  Kent 
and  Charley  are  just  like  brothers!  It  all" — Charlotte 
smiled,  sighed,  shook  her  disillusioned  young  head — • 
"it  all  seems  so  awfully  silly  to  me!"  she  said,  and  before 
Rachael  could  speak  she  had  caught  breath  again.and 
added  laughingly:  "Of  course  I  know  Billy  doesn't 
agree  with  me,  and  Billy  has  plenty  of  admiration  of  a 
sort,  and  I  suppose  that  satisfies  her!  But,  in  short," 
finished  Charlotte,  giving  Raphael's  arm  a  squeeze  as 
they  came  out  upon  the  tennis  courts,  "in  short,  you 
have  an  exacting  little  niece,  Auntie  dear,  and  I'm 
afraid  the  man  who  is  going  to  make  her  happy  must 
be  out  of  the  ordinary!" 

Rachael  sighed  a  long  deep  sigh,  but  no  other  answer 
was  demanded,  for  the  knot  of  onlookers  welcomed  them 
eagerly  to  the  benches  beside  the  courts,  and  even  the 
players — Gardner  Haviland,  Louis  Chase,  a  fat  young 
man  in  an  irreproachable  tennis  costume;  Warren 
Gregory  and  Joe  Butler  found  time  for  a  shouted 
"Hello!" 

"How  do  you  do,  Kent?"  said  Charlotte  to  a  young 
man  who  was  sprawling  on  the  sloping  grass  between 
the  benches  and  the  court.  The  young  man  blinked, 
sat  up,  and  snatched  off  his  hat. 

"Oh,  how  do  you  do,  Charlotte?     I  didn't  know  you 
were  here,"  he  said  enthusiastically.     "Some  game— 
what?" 

"It  seems  to  be,"  said  Charlotte  with  smiling,  deep 
significance.  Both  young  persons  laughed  heartily  at 
this  spirited  exchange.  A  silence  fell.  Then  Mr. 
Parmalee  turned  back  to  watch  the  players,  and  Char^ 
lotte,  who  had  seated  herself,  leaned  back  in  her  seat 
and  gave  a  devoted  attention  to  the  game. 

Gregory  came  to  Rachael  the  instant  the  game  was 
over;  she  had  known,  since  the  first  triumphant  instant 


THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL  119 

when  his  eyes  fell  upon  her,  that  he  would.  She  had 
seen  the  color  rush  under  his  brown  skin,  and,  alone 
among  all  the  onlookers,  had  known  why  Greg  put  three 
balls  into  the  net,  and  why  he  laughed  so  inexplicably 
as  he  did  so.  And  Rachael  thought,  for  the  first  time, 
how  sweet  it  would  be  to  be  his  wife,  to  sit  here  lovely 
in  lavender  stripes  and  loose  white  coat:  Warren  Greg- 
ory's wife. 

"You  mustn't  do  that,"  he  said,  sitting  down  on  the 
bench  beside  her,  and  wiping  his  hot  face. 

"Mustn't  do  what?"  she  asked. 

"Mustn't  turn  up  suddenly  when  I  don't  expect  you. 
It  makes  me  dizzy.  Look  here — what  are  you  doing? 
I'm  going  up  to  the  pool.  I've  got  to  get  back  into 
town  to-night.  When  can  I  see  you?" 

"Why" — Rachael  rose  slowly,  and  slowly  unfurled 
her  parasol — "why,  suppose  we  walk  up  together?" 

They  strolled  away  from  the  courts  deliberately, 
openly.  Several  persons  remembered  weeks  later  that 
they  went  slowly,  stopped  now  and  then.  No  one 
thought  much  of  it  at  the  time,  for  only  a  week  later 
Doctor  Gregory  took  his  mother  to  England,  and 
during  that  week  it  was  ascertained  that  he  and  Mrs. 
Breckenridge  saw  each  other  only  once,  and  then  were 
in  the  presence  of  his  mother  and  of  Carol  Brecken- 
ridge and  young  Charles  Gregory  as  well.  There  was 
no  tiniest  peg  for  gossip  to  hang  scandal  upon,  for 
where  old  Mrs.  James  Gregory  was,  decorum  of  an 
absolutely  puritanic  order  prevailed. 

Yet  that  stroll  across  the  grass  of  the  golf  links  was 
a  milestone  in  Rachael  Breckenridge's  life,  and  every 
word  that  passed  between  Gregory  and  herself  was 
graven  upon  her  heart  for  all  time.  The  aspect  of 
laughter,  of  flirtation,  was  utterly  absent  to-day.  His 
tone  was  crisp  and  serious,  he  spoke  almost  before 
they  were  out  of  the  hearing  of  the  group  on  the  courts. 

"I've  been  wanting  to  talk  to  you,  Rachael;  in  fact" 
—he  laughed  briefly — "in  fact,  I  am  talking  to  you  all 
day  long,  these  days,"  he  said,  "arguing  and  consult- 


120  THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL 

ing  and  advising  and  planning.     But  before  we  can 
talk,  there's  Clarence.     What  about  Clarence?" 

Something  in  the  gravity  of  his  expression  as  their 
eyes  met  impressed  Rachael  as  she  had  rarely  been  im- 

Eressed  in  her  life  before.     He  was  in  deadly  earnest, 
e  had  planned  his  campaign,  and  he  must  take  the 
first  step  by  clearing  the  way.      How  sure  he  was,  how 
wonderfully,  quietly  certain  of  his  course. 

"We  are  facing  a  miserable  situation,  but  it's  a 
commonplace  one,  after  all,"  said  Warren  Gregory, 
as  she  did  not  speak.  "I — you  can  see  the  position 
I'm  in.  I  have  to  ask  you  to  be  free  before  I  can  move. 
I  can't  go  to  Breckenridge's  wife 

The  color  burned  in  both  their  faces  as  they  looked 
at  each  other. 

"It  is  a  miserable  position,  Greg,"  Rachael  said, 
after  a  moment's  silence.  "And  although,  as  you  say, 
it's  commonplace  enough,  somehow  I  never  thought 
before  just  what  this  sort  of  thing  involves!  However, 
the  future  must  take  care  of  itself.  For  the  present 
there's  only  this.  I'm  going  to  leave  Clarence." 

Warren  Gregory  drew  a  long  breath. 

"He  won't  fight  it?" 

"I  don't  think  he  will."  Rachael  frowned.  "I 
think  he'll  be  willing  to  furnish — the  evidence.  Es- 
pecially if  he  has  no  reason  to  suspect  that  I  have  any 
other  plans,"  she  added  thoughtfully. 

"Then  he  mustn't  suspect,"  the  doctor  said  instantly. 
'Nor  anyone,"  she  finished,  with  a  look  of  alarm. 

"Nor  anyone,  of  course,"  he  repeated. 

"I  don't  know  that  I  have  any  other  plans,"  Rachael 
said  sadly.  "I  won't  think  beyond  that  one  thing. 
Our  marriage  has  been  an  utter  and  absolute  failure, 
we  are  both  wretched.  It  must  end.  I  hate  the  fuss, 
of  course " 

He  was  watching  her  closely,  too  keenly  tuned  to 
her  mood  to  disquiet  her  with  any  hint  of  the  lover's 
attitude  now. 

"And  just  how  will  you  go  about  it  ?"  he  asked. 


THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL  121 

"I  shall  slip  off  to  some  quiet  place,  I  think.  I'll 
tell  him  before  he  goes  away.  My  attorneys  will 
handle  the  matter  for  me — it's  a  sickening  business!" 
Rachael's  beautiful  face  expressed  distaste. 

"It's  done  every  day,"  Warren  Gregory  said. 

"Of  course  divorce  is  not  a  new  idea  to  me/'  Rachael 
presently  pursued.  "But  it  is  only  in  the  last  two  or 
three  days — for  a  week,  perhaps — that  it  has  seemed  to 
have  that  inevitable  quality — that  the-sooner-over- 
the-better  sort  of  urgency.  I  wonder  why  I  didn't  do 
it  years  ago.  I  shall" — she  laughed  sadly — "I  shall 
hate  myself  as  a  divorced  woman,"  she  said.  "It's  a 
survival  of  some  old  instinct,  I  suppose,  but  it  doesn't 
seem  right." 

"It's  done  all  the  time,"  was  the  doctor's  simple 
defence.  "And  oh,  my  dear,"  he  added,  "you  will 
know — and  I  will  know — we  can't  keep  knowing " 

She  stopped  short,  her  lovely  face  serious  in  the 
shade  of  her  parasol,  her  dark-blue  eyes  burning  with  a 
sort  of  noble  shame. 

"Greg!"  she  said  quickly  and  breathlessly.  "Please 

Let's  not — let's  not  say  it.  Let  me  feel,  all 

this  summer,  that  it  wasn't  said.  Let  me  feel  that 
while  I  was  living  under  one  man's  roof,  and  spending 
his  money,  that  I  didn't  even  think  of  another  man. 
It's  done  all  the  time,  you  say,  that's  true.  But  I 
hate  it.  Whether  I  leave  Clarence,  and  make  my  own 
life  under  new  conditions,  and  never  remarry,  or  whe- 
ther, in  a  year  or  two — but  I  won't  think  of  that!" 
And  to  his  surprise  and  concern,  as  she  stopped  short 
on  the  grassy  path,  the  eyes  that  Rachael  turned  to- 
ward him  were  brimming  with  tears.  "You  s-see  what 
a  baby  I  am  becoming,  Greg,"  she  said  unsteadily. 
"It's  all  your  doing,  I'm  afraid!  I  haven't  cried  for 
years — loneliness  and  injustice  and  unhappiness  don't 
make  me  cry!  But  just  lately  I've  known  what  it 
was  to  dream  of — of  joy,  Greg.  And  if  that  joy  is 
ever  really  coming  to  us,  I  want  to  be  worthy  of  it. 
I  want  to  start  right  this  time.  I  want  to  spend  the 


122  THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL 

summer  quietly  somewhere,  thinking  and  reading. 
I'm  going  to  give  up  cards  and  even  cocktails.  You 
smile,  Greg,  but  I  truly  am!  Just  for  this  time,  I 
mean.  And  it's  come  to  me,  just  lately,  that  I  wouldn't 
leave  Clarence  if  he  really  needed  me,  or  if  it  would 
make  him  unhappy.  I'm  going  to  be  different — every- 
thing seems  different  already— 

"Don't  you  know  why?"  he  said  with  his  grave 
smile,  as  she  paused.  It  was  enchanting  to  him  to 
see  the  color  flood  her  face,  to  see  her  shy  eyes  suddenly 
averted.  She  did  not  answer,  and  they  walked  slowly 
toward  the  clubhouse  steps. 

"There's  only  one  thing  more  to  say,"  Warren  Greg- 
ory said,  arresting  her  for  one  more  moment.  "It's 
this :  as  soon  as  you're  free,  I'm  coming  for  you.  You 
may  not  have  made  up  your  mind  by  that  time,  Rachael. 
My  mind  will  never  change." 

Shaken  beyond  all  control  by  his  tone,  Rachael  did 
not  even  raise  her  eyes.  Her  flush  died  away,  leaving 
her  face  pale.  He  saw  her  breast  rise  on  a  quick  breath. 

"Will  you  write  me?"  he  asked,  after  a  moment. 

"Oh,  yes,  Greg!"  she  answered  quickly,  in  a  voice 
hardly  above  a  whisper.  "When  do  you  go?" 

"On  Wednesday — a  week  from  to-day,  in  fact.  And 
that  reminds  me,  Billy  says  you  are  coming  into  town 
early  next  week?" 

"Monday,  probably."  Rachael  was  coming  back 
to  the  normal.  "She  needs  things  for  camp,  and  I've 
got  a  little  shopping  to  do." 

"Then  could  you  lunch  with  Mother?  Little  Char- 
ley'll  be  there :  no  one  else.  Bring  Billy.  Mother'd  love 
it.  You're  a  great  favorite  there,  you  know." 

"I  may  not  always  be  a  favorite  there,"  Rachael 
said  with  a  rueful  smile. 

"Don't  worry  about  Mother,"  Warren  Gregory  said 
with  a  confidence  that  in  this  moment  of  excitement 
and  exhilaration  he  almost  felt  was  justified.  "  Mother's 
a  dear!" 

That  was  all  their  conversation.     When  they  entered 


THE  HEART  OF  EACHAEL  123 

the  clubhouse  Doctor  Gregory  turned  toward  the 
swimming  pool  and  Rachael  was  instantly  drawn  into 
a  game  of  bridge.  She  played  like  a  woman  in  a  dream, 
was  joined  by  Billy,  went  home  in  a  dream,  and  pres- 
ently found  herself  and  her  husband  fellow  guests  at  a 
dreamlike  dinner-party. 

Why  not? — why  not? — why  not?  The  question 
drummed  in  head  and  heart  day  and  night.  Why  not 
end  bondage,  and  taste  freedom?  Why  not  end  un- 
happiness,  and  try  joy?  She  had  done  her  best  to 
make  her  first  marriage  a  success,  and  she  had  failed. 
Why  not,  with  all  kindness,  with  all  generous  good 
wishes,  end  the  long  experiment  ?  Who,  in  all  her  wide 
range  of  acquaintances,  would  think  the  less  of  her 
for  the  obviously  sensible  step  ?  The  world  recognized 
divorce  as  an  indispensable  institution:  one  marriage 
in  every  twelve  was  dissolved. 

And  remarriage,  a  brilliant  second  marriage,  was 
universally  approved.  Even  such  a  stern  old  judge  as 
Warren's  mother  counted  among  her  acquaintances  the 
divorced  and  remarried.  To  reappear,  triumphant, 
beloved,  beautiful,  before  one's  old  world — 

But  no-^-of  this  Rachael  would  not  permit  herself  to 
think.  Time  alone  could  tell  what  her  next  step  must 
be.  The  only  consideration  now  must  be  that,  even 
if  Warren  Gregory  had  never  existed,  even  if  there 
were  no  other  man  than  Clarence  Breckenridge  in  the 
world,  she  must  take  the  step.  Better  poverty,  and 
work,  and  obscurity,  if  need  be,  with  freedom,  than 
all  Clarence  could  offer  her  in  this  absurd  and  empty 
bondage. 

Once  firmly  decided,  she  began  to  chafe  against  the 
delays  that  made  an  immediate  announcement  of  her 
intentions  unwise.  If  a  thing  was  to  be  done,  as  well 
do  it  quickly,  thought  Rachael,  as  she  listened  pa- 
tiently to  the  vacillating  decisions  of  Carol  and  her 
father  in  regard  to  the  Villalonga  camping  plan.  At 
one  time  Clarence  completely  abandoned  the  idea, 
throwing  the  watchful  and  silent  Rachael  into  utter 


124  THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL 

consternation.  Carol  was  alternately  bored  by  the 
plan  and  wearily  interested  in  it.  Their  characteristic 
absorption  in  their  own  comfort  was  a  great  advantage 
to  Rachael  at  this  particular  juncture;  she  had  been 
included  in  Mrs.  Villalonga's  invitation  as  a  matter  of 
course,  but  such  was  the  life  of  the  big,  luxurious  estab- 
lishment known  as  the  "camp"  that  all  three  of  the 
Breckenridges,  and  three  more  of  them  had  there  been 
so  many,  might  easily  have  spent  six  weeks  therein 
without  crossing  each  other's  paths  more  than  once  or 
twice  a  week.  It  never  occurred  to  either  Carol  or 
her  father  to  question  Rachael  closely  as  to  her  pleas- 
ure in  the  matter.  They  took  it  for  granted  that  she 
would  be  there  if  no  pleasanter  invitation  interfered, 
exactly  as  they  themselves  would. 

An  enormous  income  enabled  the  sprightly  Mrs. 
Villalonga  to  conduct  her  midsummer  residence  in  the 
Canadian  forests  upon  a  scale  that  may  only  be  com- 
pared to  a  hotel.  She  usually  asked  about  one  hundred 
friends  to  visit  her  for  an  indefinite  time,  and  of  this 
number  perhaps  half  availed  themselves  of  the  privilege, 
drifting  in  upon  her  at  any  time,  remaining  only  while 
the  spirit  moved,  and  departing  unceremoniously,  per- 
haps, if  the  hostess  chanced  to  be  away  at  the  moment, 
with  no  farewells  at  all,  when  any  pleasanter  prospect 
offered. 

Mrs.  Villalonga  was  a  large,  coarse-voiced  woman, 
with  a  heart  of  gold,  and  the  facial  characteristics  that  in 
certain  unfortunate  persons  suggest  nothing  so  much  as 
a  horse.  She  sent  a  troop  of  servants  up  to  the  woods 
every  year,  following  them  in  a  week  or  two  with  her 
first  detachment  of  guests.  She  paid  her  chef  six 
thousand  dollars  a  year,  and  would  have  paid  more  for 
a  better  chef,  if  there  had  been  one.  She  expected 
three  formal  meals  every  day,  including  in  their  scope 
every  delicacy  that  could  be  procured  at  any  city  hotel, 
and  also  an  indefinite  number  of  lesser  meals,  to  be 
served  in  tennis  pavilion,  or  after  cards  at  night,  or 
whenever  a  guest  arrived. 


THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL  125 

By  the  time  she  reached  the  camp  everything  must 
be  complete  for  another  summer,  awnings  flapping 
gently  outside  the  striped  canvas  "tents'*  that  were 
really  roomy  cabins  provided  with  shower  baths  and 
wide  piazzas.  The  great  cement-walled  swimming 
pool  must  be  cleaned,  the  courts  rolled,  the  cars  all  in 
order,  the  boats  and  bath-houses  in  readiness.  A 
miniature  grocery  and  drug  store  must  be  established 
in  the  building  especially  designed  for  this  use;  the  little 
laundry  concealed  far  up  in  the  woods  must  be  oper- 
ating briskly. 

Then,  from  the  middle  of  June  to  the  first  of  Septem- 
ber, the  camp  was  in  full  swing.  There  were  dances 
and  campfires  and  theatricals  and  fancy-dress  affairs 
innumerable.  Ice  and  champagne  and  California 
peaches  and  avocados  from  Hawaii  poured  from  the 
housekeeping  department  in  an  unending  stream; 
there  were  new  toothbrushes  and  new  pajamas  for  the 
unexpected  guest,  there  were  new  bathing  suits  in 
boxes  for  the  girls  who  had  driven  over  from  Taramac 
House  and  who  wanted  a  swim,  there  were  new  packs 
of  cards  and  new  boxes  of  cigars,  and  there  were  maids 
— maids — maids  to  run  for  these  things  when  they 
were  wanted,  and  carry  them  away  when  their  brief 
use  was  over. 

Then  it  would  be  September,  and  everything  would 
end  as  suddenly  as  it  began.  The  Villalongas  would  go 
to  Europe,  or  to  Newport,  Vera  loudly,  joyously,  in- 
sistently urging  everyone  to  visit  them  there  if  it 
were  the  latter.  In  November  they  would  be  in  their 
town  house  with  new  paintings  and  new  rugs  to  show 
their  guests:  a  portrait  of  Vera,  a  rug  stolen  from  a 
Sultan's  palace. 

Everybody  said  that  Vera  Villalonga  did  this  sort 
of  thing  extremely  well;  indeed  she  had  no  rival  in 
her  own  particular  field.  The  weekly  society  journals 
depended  upon  her  to  supply  them  with  spectacular 
pictures  of  a  Chinese  ball  every  November  and  a  Mi- 
careme  dance  every  spring;  they  sent  photographers 


126  THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL 

all  the  way  up  to  her  camp  that  their  readers  might  not 
miss  a  yearly  glimpse  of  the  way  Mrs.  Villalonga  enter- 
tained. 

But  Rachael,  who  had  spent  a  portion  of  six  summers 
with  the  Villalongas,  found  herself,  in  her  newly  ana- 
lytical mood,  wondering  just  who  got  any  particular 
pleasure  out  of  it  all.  Vera  herself,  perhaps.  Cer- 
tainly her  husband,  who  would  spend  all  his  time  play- 
ing poker  and  tennis,  would  have  been  as  happy  else- 
where. Her  two  sons,  tall,  dark  young  men,  in  con- 
nection with  whose  characters  the  world  in  general 
contented  itself  merely  with  the  word  "wild,"  would 
be  there  only  for  a  week  or  two  at  most.  Billy  would 
wait  for  Joe  Pickering's  letters,  Clarence  would  drink, 
and  watch  Billy.  Little  Mina  Villalonga,  who  had  a 
minor  nervous  ailment,  would  wander  about  after 
Billy.  The  Parmalees  would  come  up  for  a  visit,  and 
the  Morans  would  come.  Jack  Torrence,  spoiled  out 
of  all  reason,  would  promise  a  week  and  come  for  two 
days;  Porter  Pinckard  would  compromise  upon  a  mere 
hour  or  two,  charging  into  the  camp  in  his  racing  car, 
introducing  hilarious  friends,  accepting  a  sandwich  and 
a  bottle  of  beer,  and  then  tearing  off  again.  Straker 
Thomas,  silent,  mysterious,  ill,  would  drift  about  for  a 
week  or  two;  Peter  Pomeroy  would  go  up  late  in  July, 
and  be  adored  by  everyone,  and  take  charge  of  the 
theatricals. 

"The  maids  probably  get  any  amount  of  fun  out  of 
it,"  mused  Rachael.  Vera  was  notably  generous  to 
her  servants:  a  certain  pool  was  reserved  for  them,  and 
their  numbers  formed  a  most  congenial  society  every 
summer.  "I  don't  believe  Til  go  to  Vera's  this  year," 
Mrs.  Breckenridge  said  aloud  to  her  husband  and  step- 
daughter. 

"I'm  not  crazy  about  it,"  Billy  agreed  fretfully. 

"Might  as  well,"  was  the  man's  enthusiastic  con- 
tribution. 

"Oh,  I'm  going!"  Billy  said  discontentedly.  "But  I 
don't  see  why  you  and  Rachael  have  to  go." 


THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL  127 

"Don't  you?"  her  father  said  significantly. 

"Joe  Pickering's  going  to  be  in  Texas  this  whole 
summer,  if  that's  what  you  mean!"  flamed  Billy. 

"I'm  glad  to  hear  it,"  Clarence  commented. 

"Anyway,  you  might  depend  upon  Vera  to  take 
absolute  good  care  of  Bill,"  Rachael  said  soothingly. 
"It's  time  you  both  got  away  to  some  cooler  place,  if 
you  are  going  to  fight  so  about  nothing!  Why  do 
you  do  it?  Billy  can't  marry  anyone  for  eleven 
months,  and  if  she  wants  to  marry  the  man  in  the 
moon  then  you  can't  stop  her.  So  there  you  are!" 

"And  I'm  capable  of  running  my  own  affairs," 
finished  Billy  with  a  look  far  from  filial. 

"You  only  waste  your  breath  arguing  with  Clarence 
when  he's  got  one  of  his  headaches,"  Rachael  said  to 
her  stepdaughter  an  hour  or  two  later  when  they  were 
spinning  smoothly  into  the  city  for  the  planned  shop- 
ping. "Of  course  he'll  go  to  Vera's,  and  of  course  you'll 
go,  too!  Just  don't  tease  him  when  he's  all  upset." 

"Well,  what  does  he  drink  and  smoke  so  much,  and 
get  this  way  for? "  Billy  demanded  sullenly. 

"What  does  anybody  do  it  for?"  Rachael  countered. 
And  a  second  later  her  singing  heart  was  with  Gregory 
again.  He  did  not  dp  it! 

She  entered  into  Billy's  purchasing  perplexities  with 
great  sympathy;  a  successful  hat  was  found,  several  de- 
liciously  extravagant  and  fragile  dresses  for  camping. 

"You're  awfully  decent  about  all  this,  Rachael," 
Billy  said  once;  "it  must  be  a  sweet  life  we  lead  you 
sometimes!" 

Something  in  the  girl's  young  glance  touched  Rachael 
strangely.  They  were  in  the  car  again  now,  going 
toward  Mrs.  Gregory's  handsome,  old-fashioned  house 
on  Washington  Square.  Rachael  was  inspired  to  seize 
the  propitious  second. 

"Listen,  Bill,"  she  said,  and  paused.  Billy  eyed  her 
curiously.  Obtuse  as  she  was,  a  certain  change  in 
Rachael  had  not  entirely  escaped  the  younger  woman, 

"Well?"  she  asked,  on  guard. 


128  THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL 

"Well "  Rachael  faltered.     Motherly  advice  was 

not  much  in  her  line.  "It's  just  this,  Bill,"  she  resumed 
slowly,  "when  you  think  of  marriage,  don't  think  of 
just  a  few  weeks  or  a  few  months;  think  of  all  the  time. 
Think  of  other  things  than  just — that  sort  of — love. 
Children,  you  know,  and — and  books,  don't  you  know? 
Things  that  count.  Be — I  don't  say  be  guided  en- 
tirely by  what  your  father  and  lots  of  other  persons 
think,  but  be  influenced  by  it!  Realize  that  we  have 
no  motive  but — but  affection,  in  advising  you  to  be 


sure." 


The  stumbling,  uncertain  words  were  unlike  Mrs. 
Breckenridge's  usual  certain  flow  of  reasoning.  But  in 
spite  of  this,  or  because  of  it,  Billy  was  somewhat  im- 
pressed. 

"I  had  an  aunt  in  California,"  Rachael  continued, 
"who  cried,  and  got  whipped  and  locked  up,  and  all  the 
rest  of  it,  and  she  carried  her  point.  But  she  was 
unhappy. . .  ." 

"You  mean  because  Joe  is  divorced?"  Billy  asked 
in  a  somewhat  troubled  voice. 

The  scarlet  rushed  to  Rachael's  face. 

"N-not  entirely,"  she  answered  in  some  confusion. 

"That  is,  you  don't  think  divorced  people  ought  to 
remarry,  even  if  the  divorce  is  fair  enough?"  Billy 
pursued,  determined  to  be  clear. 

"Well,  I  suppose  every  case  is  different,  Bill." 

"That's  what  you've  always  said!"  Billy  accused 
her  vivaciously.  "You  said,  time  and  time  again, 
that  if  people  can't  live  together  in  peace  they  ought 
to  separate,  but  that  it  was  another  thing  if  they  married 
again!" 

"Did  I?"  Rachael  asked  weakly,  adding  a  moment 
later,  with  obvious  relief  in  her  tone:  "Here  we  are! 
It's  only  this,  Bill, "  she  finished,  as  they  mounted  the 
brownstone  steps,  "be  sure.  You  can  do  anything,  I 
suppose.  Only  be  sure!" 

Mrs.  Gregory  would  be  down  in  a  few  minutes,  old 
Dennison  said.  Rachael  murmured  something  ami- 


THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL  129 

able,  and  the  two  went  into  the  dark,  handsome  parlors; 
the  house  was  full  of  parlors;  on  both  sides  of  the  hall 
stately,  crowded  rooms  could  be  glimosed  through  open 
doors. 

"Isn't  it  fierce?"  Billy  said  with  a  helpless  shrug. 
Rachael  smiled  and  shook  her  head  slowly  in  puzzled 
consent.  "Don't  you  suppose  they  ever  air  it?"  pur- 
sued the  younger  woman  in  a  low  tone.  The  air  had  a 
peculiarly  close,  dry  smell. 

"It  wouldn't  seem  so,"  Rachael  said,  looking  at  the 
life-size  statues  of  Moorish  and  Neopolitan  girls,  the 
mantel  clock  representing  a  Dutch  windmill,  the  mantel 
itself,  of  black  marble,  gilded  and  columned,  with  a 
mirror  in  a  carved  walnut  frame  stretching  ten  feet 
above  it,  the  beaded  fire  screen,  the  voluminous  window 
curtains  of  tasselled  rep,  and  the  ornate  walnut  table 
across  whose  marble  top  a  strip  of  lace  had  been  laid. 
Everything  was  ugly  and  expensive  and  almost  every- 
thing was  old-fashioned,  all  the  level  surfaces  of  tables, 
mantel,  and  piano  top  were  filled  with  small  articles, 
bits  of  ivory  carving  from  China,  leather  boxes,  ma- 
jolica jars,  photographs  in  heavy  frames,  enormous 
illustrated  books,  candlesticks,  and  odd  teacups  and 
trays. 

Smiling  down — how  Rachael  knew  that  smile,  half- 
quizzical  and  half-tender — from  a  corner  of  the  room 
was  a  beautiful  oil  portrait  of  Warren  Gregory,  the  one 
really  fine  thing  in  the  room.  By  some  chance  the 
painter  had  caught  on  his  face  the  very  look  with  which 
he  might,  in  the  flesh,  have  studied  this  dreadful  room. 
Rachael  felt  a  thrill  go  to  her  heels  as  she  looked  back 
at  the  canvas,  and  far  down  in  the  deeps  of  her  being 
the  thought  stirred  that  some  day  her  hand  might  be 
the  one  to  change  all  this — to  make  the  woodwork 
colonial  white,  and  the  paper  rich  with  color,  to  have 
the  black  marble  changed  to  creamy  tiles,  and  the  rep 
curtains  torn  away.  Then  how  charming  the  place 
would  be  when  visitors  came  in  from  the  hot  street! 

"A  million  apologies — all  my  fault!"  said  Doctor 


130  THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL 

Gregory  in  the  doorway.  His  mother,  in  rustling 
black  silk,  was  on  his  arm.  She  had  given  up  her  cane 
to-day  to  use  the  living  support,  and  no  lover  could 
have  wished  to  appear  more  charming  in  his  lady's 
eyes  than  did  Warren  Gregory  appear  to  Rachael  as 
he  lowered  the  frail  old  figure  to  a  chair  and  neglected 
his  guests  while  he  made  his  mother  comfortable. 

"He  would  have  you  think,  now,  that  I  was  the 
cause  of  the  delay,"  said  the  old  lady  in  a  sweet  voice 
that  betrayed  curiously  the  weakness  of  the  flesh  and 
the  strength  of  the  spirit.  "But  I  assure  you  my 
beauty  is  no  longer  a  matter  of  great  importance  to 
me!" 

"So  it  was  Greg  who  was  curling  his  hair?"  Rachael 
asked,  with  one  swift  and  eloquent  glance  for  him  before 
she  drew  a  much-fringed  hassock  to  his  mother's  knee 
and  seated  herself  there  with  the  confidence  of  a  cap- 
tivating child.  "I  always  thought  he  was  rather  vain! 
But  let's  not  talk  about  him,  we  only  make  him  worse. 
Tell  me  about  yourself? " 

Mrs.  Gregory  was  a  rather  spirited  old  lady,  and 
liked  to  fancy,  with  the  pathetic  complacency  of  the 
passing  generation,  that  her  sense  of  humor  quite  kept 
up  with  the  times.  Rachael  knew  her  well,  and  knew 
all  her  stories,  but  this  only  made  her  the  pleasanter 
companion.  She  quickly  carried  the  conversation  into 
the  past,  and  was  content  to  be  a  listener;  indeed, 
with  a  hostess  far  removed  in  type  from  herself  it 
was  the  only  safe  role  to  play.  The  conversation  was 
full  of  pitfalls  for  this  charming  and  dutiful  worldling, 
and  Rachael  was  too  clever  to  risk  a  fall. 

She  was  afraid  of  the  crippled  little  gentlewoman  in 
the  big  chair,  and  Warren  Gregory  was  afraid,  too. 
Some  mysterious  element  in  her  regard  for  them  made 
luncheon  an  ordeal  for  them  both,  although  Billy's 
healthy  young  eyes  saw  only  an  old  woman,  impotent 
and  alone;  the  maids  were  respectful  and  pitying,  and 
young  Charles  Gregory,  who  joined  them  at  luncheon, 
was  obviously  unimpressed  by  his  grandmother's 


THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL  131 

power,  but  was  smitten  red  and  inarticulate  at  the 
first  glimpse  of  Billy. 

This  youth,  after  silently  disposing  of  several  courses, 
finally  asked  in  a  husky  voice  for  Miss  Charlotte 
Haviland,  and  relapsed  into  silence  again.  Billy  flirted 
youthfully  with  her  host,  Rachael  devoted  herself  to 
the  old  lady. 

She  had  always  been  happy  here,  a  marked  favorite 
with  old  Mrs.  Gregory  to  whom  her  audacious  nonsense 
had  always  seemed  a  great  delight  before.  But  to-day 
she  was  conscious  of  a  change,  she  could  not  control 
the  conversation  with  her  usual  sure  touch,  she  floun^ 
dered  and  contradicted  herself  like  a  schoolgirl.  One 
of  her  brilliant  stories  fell  rather  flat  because  its  humor 
was  largely  supplied  by  an  intoxicated  man — "of 
course  it  was  dreadful,  but  then  it  was  funny,  too!" 
Rachael  finished  lamely.  Another  flashing  account 
won  from  the  old  hostess  the  single  words  *0n  Sun- 
day?" 

"Well,  yes.  It  was  on  Sunday.  I  am  afraid  we  are 
absolute  pagans;  we  don't  always  remember  to  go  to 
church,  by  any  means!"  Rachael  began  to  feel  that  a 
cloud  of  midges  were  buzzing  about  her  face.  Every 
topic  led  her  deeper  into  the  quicksand.  There  was  a 
definite  touch  of  resentment  under  the  gracious  manner 
in  which  she  presently  said  her  good-bye,  and  they 
were  no  sooner  in  the  motor  car  than  she  exclaimed  to 
Billy: 

"Didn't  Mrs.  Gregory  seem  horribly  cross  to  you 
to-day?  She  made  me  feel  as  if  I'd  broken  all  the 
Commandments  and  was  dancing  on  the  pieces!" 

"What  do  you  know  about  Charles  asking  for  Char- 
lotte?" was  Billy's  only  answer.  "Isn't  he  just  the 
sort  of  mutt  who  would  ask  for  Charlotte!" 

"Isn't  she  quite  lovely?"  said  Mrs.  Gregory  from 
over  the  fleecy  yarn  she  was  knitting,  when  the  guests 
had  gone. 

"Carol?"  the  doctor  countered. 


132  THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL 

"Yes,  Carol,  too.  But  I  was  thinking  of  Mrs, 
Breckenridge.  Do  you  see  her  very  often,  James  ? " 

"Quite  a  bit.     Do  you  mind  my  smoking?" 

"I  often  wonder,"  pursued  the  old  lady  innocently, 
"what  such  a  sweet,  gay,  lovely  girl  could  see  in  a 
fellow  like  poor  Clarence  Breckenridge!" 

"Great  marvel  she  doesn't  throw  him  over!"  Warren 
said  casually. 

"It  distresses  me  to  hear  you  talk  so  recklessly,  my 
son,"  Mrs.  Gregory  said  after  a  brief  pause. 

"Lord,  Mother,"  her  son  presently  observed  im- 
patiently, "is  it  reasonable  to  expect  that  because  a 
girl  like  that  makes  a  mistake  when  she  is  twenty  or 
twenty-one,  that  she  shall  pay  for  it  for  the  rest  of  her 
life?" 

"Unfortunately,  we  are  not  left  in  any  doubt  about 
it,"  the  old  lady  said  dryly.  And  as  Warren  was  silent 
she  went  on  with  quavering  vigor:  "It  is  not  for  us 
to  judge  her  husband's  infirmities.  She  is  his  wife." 

"Oh,  well,  there's  no  use  arguing  it,"  the  man  said 

Eleasantly  after  a  sulphurous  interval.  "Fortunately 
:>r  her,  most  people  don't  feel  as  you  do." 

"You  surely  don't  think  that  7  originated  this 
theory?"  his  mother  asked  quietly  after  a  silence, 
during  which  her  long  needles  moved  a  little  more 
swiftly  than  was  natural. 

"I  don't  think  anything  about  it.  I  know  that 
you're  much,  much  narrower  about  such  things  than 
your  religion  or  any  religion  gives  you  any  right  to 
be,"  Warren  asserted  hotly.  "It  is  nothing  to  me, 
but  I  hate  this  smug  parcelling  out  of  other  people's 
affairs,"  he  went  on.  "Mrs.  Breckenridge  is  a  very 
wonderful  and  a  most  unfortunate  woman;  her  husband 
isn't  fit  to  lace  her  shoes " 

"All  that  may  be  true,"  his  mother  interrupted  with 
some  agitation. 

"All  that  may  be  true,  you  say!  And  yet  if  Rachael 
left  him,  and  tried  to  find  happiness  somewhere  else " 

"The  law  is  not  of  my  making,  James,"  the  old  lady 


THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL  133 

intervened  mildly,  noting  his  use  of  the  discussed 
woman's  name  with  a  pang. 

"But  it  is  of  your  making  —  you  people  who  sit 
around  and  say  what's  respectable  and  what's  not 
respectable!  Who  are  you  to  judge?" 

"I  try  not  to  judge,"  Mrs.  Gregory  said  so  simply 
that  the  man's  anger  cooled  in  spite  of  himself.  "And 
perhaps  I  am  foolish,  James,  all  mothers  are.  But  you 
are  the  last  of  my  four  sons,  and  I  am  a  widow  in  my 
old  age,  and  I  tremble  for  you.  When  a  woman  with 
beauty  as  great  as  that  confides  in  you,  my  child,  when 
she  turns  to  you,  your  soul  is  in  danger,  and  your  mother 
sees  it.  I  cannot  —  I  cannot  be  silent  -  " 

Rachael  herself,  an  hour  ago,  had  not  used  her  youth 
and  beauty  with  more  definite  design  than  was  this 
other  woman  using  her  age  and  infirmity  now.  Warren 
Gregory  was  almost  as  readily  affected. 

"My  dear  Mother,"  he  said  sensibly  and  charm- 
ingly, "don't  think  for  one  instant  that  I  do  not  ajx 
preciate  your  devotion  to  me.  What  has  suddenly  put 
into  your  head  this  concern  about  Mrs.  Breckenridge, 
I  can't  imagine.  I  know  that  if  she  were  ever  in  any 
trouble  or  need  you  would  be  the  first  to  defend  her. 
She  is  in  a  peculiarly  difficult  position,  and  in  a  pro- 
fessional way  I  am  somewhat  in  her  confidence,  that's 


"I  should  think  she  could  do  something  with  Clar- 
ence," the  old  lady  said,  somewhat  mollified.  "Inter- 
est him  in  something  new;  lead  him  away  from  bad 
influences." 

"Clarence  is  rather  a  hopeless  problem,"  Warren 
Gregory  said.  The  talk  drifted  away  to  other  persons 
and  affairs,  but  when  they  presently  parted,  with  great 
amiability  on  both  sides,  Warren  Gregory  knew  that 
his  mother's  suspicions  had  in  some  mysterious  way 
been  aroused,  and  old  MrsJ  Gregory,  sitting  alone  in 
the  heat  of  the  afternoon,  writhed  in  the  grip  of  a 
definite  apprehension.  Absurd  —  absurd  —  to  interpret 
that  married  woman's  brightly  innocent  glances  into  a 


134  THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL 

declaration  of  love,  absurd  to  find  passion  concealed 
in  Warren's  cheerfully  hospitable  manner.  But  she 
could  not  shake  off  the  terrified  conviction  that  it  was 
so. 

"Mr.  and  Mrs.  Theodore  Moulton  of  England  have 
rented  for  the  season  the  house  of  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Clar- 
ence Breckenridge,  at  Belvedere  Bay,"  stated  the  social 
columns  authoritatively.  "Mr.  Breckenridge  and  Miss 
Carol  Breckenridge  will  leave  at  once  for  the  summer 
camp  of  Mrs.  Booth  Villalonga,  at  Elks  Leap,  where 
Mrs.  Breckenridge  will  join  them  after  spending  a  few 
weeks  with  friends." 

Rachael  saw  the  notice  on  the  morning  of  the  last 
day  that  she  and  Clarence  were  together.  In  the 
afternoon  Billy  and  Clarence  were  to  leave  for  the 
north,  and  Rachael  was  to  go  to  Florence  for  a  day  or 
two.  She  had  been  unusually  indefinite  about  her 
plans  for  the  summer,  but  in  the  general  confusion  of 
all  plans  this  had  not  been  noticed.  She  had  super- 
intended the  packing  and  assorting  and  storing  of 
silver  and  linen,  as  a  matter  of  course,  and  it  was  easy 
to  see  that  certain  things  indisputably  her  own  went 
into  certain  crates.  Nobody  questioned  her  authority, 
and  Clarence  and  Billy  paid  no  attention  whatever  to 
the  stupid  proceeding  of  getting  the  house  in  order  for 
tenants. 

On  this  last  morning  she  sat  at  the  breakfast  table 
studying  these  two  who  had  been  her  companions  for 
seven  years,  and  who  suspected  so  little  that  this  com- 
panionship was  not  to  last  for  another  seven  years,  for 
an  indefinite  time.  Billy  was  in  a  bad  temper  because 
her  father  was  not  taking  Alfred  and  the  car  with  them 
to  the  camp,  as  he  had  done  for  the  two  previous  years. 
Clarence,  sullen  as  always  under  Billy's  disapproval, 
was  pretending  to  read  his  paper.  He  had  a  severe 
headache  this  morning,  his  face  looked  flushed  and 
swollen.  He  was  dreading  the  twenty-four  hours  in  a 
hot  train,  even  though  the  Bowditches,  going  up  in 


THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL  135 

their  own  car  to  their  own  camp,  had  offered  the  Breck- 
enridges  its  comparative  comfort  and  coolness  for  the 
entire  trip. 

"Makes  me  so  sick/'  grumbled  Billy,  who  looked 
extremely  pretty  in  a  Chinese  coat  of  blue  and  purple 
embroideries;  "every  time  I  want  to  move  I'll  have  to 
ask  Aunt  Vera  if  I  may  have  a  car!  No  fun  at  all!' 

"Loads  of  horses  and  cars  up  there,  my  dear," 
Rachael  said  pacifically.  She  was  quivering  from 
head  to  foot  with  nervous  excitement;  the  next  few 
hours  were  all-important  to  her.  And,  under  the 
pressure  of  her  own  great  emotions,  Billy  seemed  only 
rather  pitiful  and  young  to-day,  and  even  Clarence  less 
a  conscious  tyrant,  and  more  a  blundering  boy,  than  he 
had  seemed.  She  bore  them  no  ill  will  after  these 
seven  hard  years;  indeed  a  great  peace  and  kindliness 
pervaded  her  spirit  and  softened  her  manner  toward 
them  both.  Her  marriage  had  been  a  great  disap- 
pointment, composed  of  a  thousand  small  disappoint- 
ments, but  she  was  surprised  to  find  that  some  intangi- 
ble and  elementary  emotion  was  about  to  make  this 
parting  strangely  hard. 

"Yes,  but  it's  not  the  same  thing,"  Billy  raged. 
Rachael  began  a  low-voiced  reassurance  to  which  the 
younger  woman  listened  reluctantly,  scowling  over  her 
omelette,  and  interposing  an  occasional  protest. 

"Oh,  yap — yap — yap!  My  God,  I  do  get  tired  of 
hearing  you  two  go  on  and  on  and  on!"  Clarence  pres- 
ently burst  out  angrily.  "If  you  don't  want  to  go, 
Billy,  say  so.  I'm  sick  of  the  whole  thing,  anyway!" 

"You  know  very  well  I  never  wanted  to  go,"  Billy 
answered.  And  because,  being  now  committed  to  the 
Villalonga  visit,  she  perversely  dreaded  it,  she  pursued 
aggrievedly,  "I'd  ever  so  much  rather  have  gone  to 
California,  Dad!" 

How  sure  the  youngster  was  of  her  power,  Rachael 
thought,  watching  him  instantly  soften  under  his 
daughter's  skilful  touch. 

"For  five  cents,"  he  said  eagerly,  "Fd  wire  Verai 


136  THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL 

and  you  and  I'd  beat  it  to  Santa  Barbara!  What  do 
you  say?" 

"And  if  Rachael  promised  to  be  awfully  good,  she 
could  come,  too!"  Billy  laughed.  But  the  girl's  gay 
patronage  was  never  again  to  be  extended  to  Rachael 
Breckenridge. 

"You  couldn't  disappoint  Vera  now,"  she  protested. 

"Oh,  Lord!  make  some  objections!"  Clarence  growled. 

"My  dear  boy,  it's  nothing  to  me,  whatever  you  do," 
Rachael  said  quickly.  "But  Vera  Villalonga  is  a  very 
important  friend  for  Bill.  There's  no  sense  in  antago- 
nizing her " 

"No,  I  suppose  there  isn't,"  Billy  said  slowly.  "But 
I  wish  she'd  not  ask  us  every  summer.  I  suppose  we 
shall  be  doing  this  for  the  rest  of  our  lives ! " 

She  trailed  slowly  from  the  room,  and  Clarence  took 
one  or  two  fretful  glances  at  his  paper. 

"Gosh,  how  you  do  love  to  spoil  things!"  he  said 
bitterly  to  his  wife  in  a  sudden  burst. 

Rachael  did  not  answer.  She  rose  after  a  few  mo- 
ments, and  carried  her  letters  into  the  adjoining  room. 
When  Clarence  presently  passed  the  door  she  called 
him  in. 

"Now  or  never — now  or  never!"  said  Rachael's  fast- 
beating  heart.  She  was  pale  and  breathing  quickly 
as  he  came  in.  But  Clarence,  sick  and  headachy,  did 
not  notice  these  signs  of  strong  emotion. 

"Clarence,  I  need  some  money,"  Rachael  said  sim- 
ply. 

"What  for?"  he  asked  unencouragingly. 

The  color  came  into  his  wife's  face.  She  did  not  ask 
often  for  money,  although  he  was  rich,  and  she  had  been 
his  wife  for  seven  years.  It  was  a  continual  humili- 
ation to  Rachael  that  she  must  ask  him  at  all  for  the 
little  actual  money  she  spent,  and  tell  him  what  she 
did  with  it  when  she  got  it.  Clarence  might  lose  more 
money  at  poker  in  a  single  night  than  Rachael  touched 
in  a  month;  it  had  come  to  him  without  effort,  and  or 
the  two,  she  was  the  one  who  made  a  real  effort  to 


THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL  137 

hold  the  home  together.  Yet  she  was  a  pensioner  on 
his  bounty,  obliged  to  wait  for  the  propitious  mood  and 
moment.  Under  her  hand  at  this  moment  was  Mary 
Moulton's  check  for  one  thousand  dollars,  more  than 
she  had  ever  had  at  one  time  in  her  life.  She  could  not 
touch  it,  but  Clarence  would  turn  it  into  bills,  and  stuff 
them  carelessly  into  his  pocket,  to  be  scattered  in  the 
next  week  or  two  wherever  his  idle  fancy  saw  fit. 

"Why,  for  living,  and  travelling  expenses,"  she 
answered,  with  what  dignity  she  could  muster. 

"Thought  you  had  some  money,"  he  grumbled  in 
evident  distaste. 

"Come  in  here  a  moment,"  Rachael  said  in  a  voice 
that  rather  to  his  surprise  he  obeyed.  "Sit  down 
there,"  she  went  on,  and  Clarence,  staring  at  her  a  little 
stupidly,  duly  seated  himself.  His  wife  twisted  about 
in  her  desk  chair  so  that  she  could  rest  an  arm  upon  the 
back  of  it,  and  faced  him  seriously  across  that  arm. 

"Clarence,"  said  she,  conscious  of  a  certain  dryness 
in  her  mouth,  and  a  sick  quivering  and  weakness  through- 
out her  whole  body,  "I  want  to  end  this." 

"What?"  asked  Clarence,  puzzled  and  dull,  as  she 
paused. 

"I  want  to  be  free,"  Rachael  said,  stumbling  awk- 
wardly over  the  phrase  that  sounded  so  artificial  and 
dramatic.  They  looked  at  each  other,  Clarence's  be- 
wildered look  slowly  changing  to  one  of  comprehension 
under  his  wife's  significant  expression.  There  was  a 
silence. 

"Well?"  Clarence  said,  ending  it  with  an  indifferent 
shrug. 

"Our  marriage  has  been  a  farce  for  years — almost 
from  the  beginning,"  Rachael  asserted  eagerly.  "You 
know  it,  and  I  know  it — everyone  does.  You're  not 
happy,  and  I'm  wretched.  I'm  sick  of  excuses,  and 
pretending,  and  prevaricating.  There  isn't  a  thing  in 
the  world  we  feel  alike  about;  our  life  has  become  an 
absolute  sham.  It  isn't  as  if  I  could  have  any  real 
influence  over  you — you  go  your  way,  and  do  as  you 


138  THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL 

please,  and  I  take  the  consequences.  I  realize  now 
that  every  word  I  say  jars  on  you.  Why,  sometimes 
when  you  come  into  a  room  and  find  me  there  I  can 
tell  by  the  expression  on  your  face  that  you're  angry 
just  at  that!  I've  too  much  self-respect,  I've  too  much 
pride,  to  go  on  this  way.  You  know  how  I  hate  divorce 
— no  woman  in  the  world  hates  it  more — but  tell  me, 
honestly,  what  do  we  gain  by  keeping  up  a  life  like  this  ? 
I  used  to  be  happy  and  confident  and  full  of  energy  a 
few  years  ago;  now  Fm  bored  all  the  time.  What's 
the  use,  what's  the  use — that's  the  way  I  feel  about 
everything " 

''You're  not  any  more  tired  of  it  than  I  am!"  Clar- 
ence interrupted  sullenly. 

"Then  why  keep  it  up?"  she  asked  urgently. 
"You've  Billy,  and  your  clubs,  and  your  car,  to  fill 
your  time.  There'll  be  a  fuss,  of  course,  and  I  hate 
that,  but  we'll  both  be  away.  We've  given  it  a  fair 
trial,  but  we  simply  aren't  meant  for  each  other. 
Good  heavens !  it  isn't  as  if  we  were  the  first  man  and 
woman  who " 

"Don't  talk  as  if  I  were  opposing  you,"  Clarence 
said  with  a  weary  frown. 

Rachael,  snubbed,  instantly  fell  silent. 

"I've  got  my  side  in  all  this  dissatisfied  business, 
too,"  the  man  presently  said  with  unsteady  dignity. 
"You  never  cared  a  damn  for  me,  or  what  became  of  me! 
Fve  had  you  ding-donging  your  troubles  at  me  day 
and  night;  it  never  occurs  to  you  what  I'm  up  against." 
He  looked  at  his  watch.  "You  want  some  money?" 
he  asked. 

"  If  you  please,"  Rachael  answered,  scarlet-cheeked. 

"Well,  I  can  write  a  check "  he  began. 

"Here's  this  check  of  Mary  Moulton's  for  July," 
Rachael  said,  nervously  adding:  "She  wants  to  pay 
month  by  month,  because  I  think  she  hopes  you'll  rent 
after  August.  I  believe  she'd  keep  the  place  indefi- 
nitely, on  account  of  being  near  her  mother,  and  for 
the  boys." 


THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL  139 

Clarence  took  the  check,  and,  hardly  glancing  at  it, 
scrawled  his  slovenly  "C.  L.  Breckenridge"  across  the 
back  with  a  gold-mounted  fountain  pen.  Rachael, 
whose  face  was  burning,  received  it  back  from  his  hand 
with  a  husky  "Thank  you.  You'll  have  to  furnish 
the  grounds,  I  presume — there  will  be  a  referee — noth- 
ing need  get  out  beyond  the  fact  that  I  am  the  com- 
plainant. You — won't  contest?  You — won't  oppose 
anything?"  She  hated  herself  for  the  question,  but  it 
had  to  be  asked. 

"Nope,"  the  man  said  impatiently. 

"And" — Rachael  hesitated — "and  you  won't  say 
anything,  Clarence,"  she  suggested,  "because  the 
papers  will  get  hold  of  it  fast  enough!" 

"You  can't  tell  me  anything  about  that,"  he  said 
sullenly.  Then  there  came  a  silence.  Rachael,  look- 
ing at  him,  wished  that  she  could  hate  him  a  little  more, 
wished  that  his  neglects  and  faults  had  made  a  little 
deeper  impression.  For  a  minute  or  two  neither  spoke. 
Then  Clarence  got  up  and  left  the  room,  and  Rachael 
sat  still,  the  little  slip  held  lightly  between  her  fingers. 
The  color  ebbed  slowly  from  her  face,  her  heart  resumed 
its  normal  beat,  moments  went  by,  the  little  clock  on 
her  desk  ticked  on  and  on.  It  was  all  over;  she  was 
free.  She  felt  strangely  shaken  and  cold,  and  deso- 
lately lonely. 

He  loved  her  as  little  as  she  loved  him.  They  had 
never  needed  each  other,  yet  there  was  in  this  severance 
of  the  bond  between  them  a  strange  and  unexpected 
pain.  It  was  as  if  Rachael's  heart  yearned  over  the 
wasted  years,  the  love  and  happiness  that  might  have 
been.  Not  even  the  thought  of  Warren  Gregory  seemed 
warm  or  real  to-day;  a  great  void  surrounded  her  spirit; 
she  felt  a  chilled  weariness  with  the  world,  with  all 
men — she  was  sick  of  life. 

On  the  following  day  she  gave  Florence  a  hint  of  the 
situation.  It  was  only  fair  to  warn  the  important, 
bustling  matron  a  trifle  in  advance  of  the  rest  of  the 
world.  Rachael  had  had  a  long  night's  sleep;  she  al- 


140  THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL 

ready  began  to  feel  deliciously  young  and  free.  She 
was  to  spend  a  few  nights  at  the  Havilands',  and  the 
next  week  supposedly  go  to  the  Princes'  at  Bar  Harbor; 
really  she  planned  to  disappear  for  a  time  from  her 
world.  She  must  go  up  to  town  for  a  consultation 
with  her  lawyer,  and  then,  when  the  storm  broke,  she 
would  slip  away  to  little  Quaker  Bridge,  the  tiny  village 
far  down  on  Long  Island  upon  which,  quite  by  chance, 
she  had  stumbled  two  years  before.  No  one  would 
recognize  her  there,  no  one  of  her  old  world  could  find 
her,  and  there  for  a  month  or  two  she  could  walk  and 
bathe  and  dream  in  wonderful  solitude.  Then — then 
Greg  would  be  home  again. 

"I  want  to  tell  you  something,  Florence,"  Rachael 
said  to  her  sister-in-law  when  she  was  stretched  upon 
the  wide  couch  in  Florence's  room,  watching  with  the 
placidity  of  a  good  baby  that  lady's  process  of  dressing 
for  an  afternoon  of  bridge,  or  rather  the  operations  with 
cold  cream,  rubber  face  brush,  hair  tonic,  eyebrow 
stick,  powder,  rouge,  and  lip  paste  that  preceded  the 
process  of  dressing.  Mrs.  Haviland,  even  with  this 
assistance,  would  never  be  beautiful;  in  justice  it  must 
be  admitted  that  she  never  thought  herself  beautiful. 
But  she  thought  rouge  and  powder  and  paste  improved 
her  appearance,  and  if  through  fatigue  or  haste  she 
was  ever  led  to  omit  any  or  all  of  these  embellishments, 
she  presented  herself  to  the  eyes  of  her  family  and 
friends  with  a  genuine  sensation  of  guilt.  Perhaps 
three  hours  out  of  all  her  days  were  spent  in  some  such 
occupation;  between  bathing,  manicuring,  hair-dressing, 
and  intervals  with  her  dressmaker  and  her  corset 
woman  it  is  improbable  that  the  subject  of  her  appear- 
ance was  long  out  of  the  lady's  mind.  Yet  she  was 
not  vain,  nor  was  she  particularly  well  satisfied  with 
herself  when  it  was  done.  That  about  one-fifth  of 
her  waking  time — something  more  than  two  months 
out  of  the  year — was  spent  in  an  unprofitable  effort  to 
make  herself,  not  beautiful  nor  attractive,  but  something 
only  a  little  nearer  than  was  natural  to  a  vague  standard 


THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL  141 

of  beauty  and  attractiveness,  never  occurred,  and  never 
would  occur,  to  Florence  Haviland. 

"What  is  it?"  she  asked  now  sharply,  pausing  with 
one  eyebrow  beautifully  pencilled  and  the  other  less 
definite  than  ever  by  contrast. 

"I  don't  suppose  it  will  surprise  you  to  hear  that 
Clarence  and  I  have  decided  to  try  a  change/'  Rachael 
said  slowly. 

"How  do  you  mean  a  change?"  the  other  woman 
said,  instantly  alert  and  suspicious. 

"The  usual  thing,"  Rachael  smiled. 

"What  madness  has  got  hold  of  that  boy  now?" 
his  sister  exclaimed  aghast. 

"It's  not  entirely  Clarence,"  Rachael  explained 
with  a  touch  of  pride. 

"Well,  then,  you're  mad!"  the  older  woman  said 
shortly. 

"Not  necessarily,  my  dear,"  Rachael  answered,  res- 
olutely serene. 

"Go  talk  to  someone  who's  been  through  it,"  Flor- 
ence warned  her.  "You  don't  know  what  it  is!  It's 
bad  enough  for  him,  but  it's  simple  suicide  for  you!" 

"Well,  I  wanted  you  to  hear  it  from  me,"  Rachael 
submitted  mildly. 

"Do  you  mean  to  say  you've  decided,  seriously,  to 
do  it?" 

"Very  seriously,  I  assure  you!" 

"How  do  you  propose  to  do  it?"  Florence  asked 
after  a  pause,  during  which  she  stared  with  growing 
discomfort  at  her  sister-in-law. 

"The  way  other  people  do  it,"  Rachael  said  with 
assumed  lightness.  "Clarence  agrees.  There  will  be 
evidence." 

Mrs.  Haviland  flushed. 

"You  think  that's  fair  to  Clarence?"  she  asked  pres- 
ently. 

"I  think  that  in  any  question  of  fairness  between 
Clarence  and  me  the  balance  is  decidedly  in  my  favor!'1 
Rachael  said  crisply.  "Personally,  I  shall  have  noth- 


THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL 

ing  to  do  with  it,  and  Clarence  very  little.  Charlie 
Sturgis  will  represent  me.  I  suppose  Coates  and  Cran- 
dall  will  take  care  of  Clarence — I  don't  know.  That's 
all  there  is  to  it!" 

Her  placid  gaze  roved  about  the  ceiling.  Mrs. 
Haviland  gazed  at  her  in  silence. 

"Rachael,"  she  said  desperately,  "will  you  talk  to 
someone — will  you  talk  to  Gardner?" 

"Why  should  I?"  Rachael  sat  up  on  the  couch,  the 
loosened  mass  of  her  beautiful  hair  falling  about  her 
shoulders.  "What  has  Gardner  or  anyone  else  to 
do  with  it?  It's  Clarence's  business,  and  my  business, 
and  it  concerns  nobody  else!"  she  said  warmly.  "You 
look  on  from  the  outside.  I've  borne  it  for  seven  years ! 
I'm  young,  I'm  only  twenty-eight,  and  what  is  my  life? 
Keeping  house  for  a  man  who  insults  me,  and  ignores 
me,  who  puts  me  second  to  his  daughter,  and  has  put 
me  second  since  our  wedding  day — making  excuses  for 
him  to  his  friends,  giving  up  what  I  want  to  do,  never 
knowing  from  day  to  day  what  his  mood  will  be,  never 
having  one  cent  of  money  to  call  my  own !  I  tell  you 
there  are  days  and  days  when  I'm  too  sick  at  heart  to 
read,  too  sick  at  heart  to  think!  Last  summer,  for 
instance,  when  we  were  down  at  Easthampton  with 
the  Parmalees,  when  everyone  was  so  wild  over  bathing, 
and  tennis,  and  dancing,  Clarence  wasn't  sober  one 
moment  of  the  time,  not  one!  One  night,  when  we  were 
dancing — but  I  won't  go  into  it!" 

"I  know,"  Florence  said  hastily,  rather  frightened 
at  this  magnificent  fury.  "I  know,  dear,  it's  too  bad 
—it's  dreadful — it's  a  great  shame.  But  men  are  like 
that !  Now  Gardner " 

"All  men  aren't  like  that!  Gardner  does  that  sort 
of  thing  now  and  then,  I  know,"  Rachael  rushed  on, 
"but  Gardner  is  always  sorry.  Gardner  takes  his 
place  as  a  man  of  dignity  in  the  world.  I  am  nothing 
to  Clarence;  I  have  never  been  to  him  one-tenth  of 
what  Billy  is!  I  have  borne  it,  and  borne  it,  and 
now  I  just  can't — bear  it — any  longer!" 


THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL  143 

And  Rachael,  to  her  own  surprise  and  disgust,  burst 
into  bitter  crying,  and,  stammering  some  incoherency 
about  an  aching  head,  she  went  to  her  own  room  and 
flung  herself  across  the  bed.  The  suppressed  excite- 
ment of  the  last  few  days  found  relief  in  a  long  fit  of 
sobbing;  Florence  did  not  dare  go  near  her.  The 
older  woman  tried  to  persuade  herself  that  the  resent- 
ment and  bitterness  of  this  unusual  mood  would  be 
washed  away,  and  that  Rachael,  after  a  nap  and  a 
bath,  would  feel  more  like  herself,  but  nevertheless 
she  went  off  to  her  game  in  a  rather  worried  frame  of 
mind,  and  gave  but  an  imperfect  attention  to  the  ques- 
tion of  hearts  or  lilies. 

Rachael,  heartily  ashamed  of  what  she  would  have 
termed  her  schoolgirlish  display  of  emotion,  came 
slowly  to  herself,  dozed  over  a  magazine,  plunged  into 
a  cold  bath,  and  at  four  o'clock  dressed  herself  ex- 
quisitely for  Mrs.  Whittaker's  informal  dinner.  Glow- 
ing like  a  rose  in  her  artfully  simple  gown  of  pink  and 
white  checks,  she  went  downstairs. 

Florence  had  come  in  late,  bearing  a  beautiful  bit 
of  pottery,  the  first  prize,  and  was  again  in  the  throes  of 
dressing,  but  Gardner  was  downstairs  restlessly  wan- 
dering about  the  dimly  lighted  rooms  and  halls.  He 
was  fond  of  Rachael,  and  as  they  walked  up  and  down 
the  lawn  together  he  tried,  in  a  blunt  and  clumsy  way, 
to  show  her  his  sympathy. 

"  Floss  tells  me  you're  about  at  the  end  of  your  rope 
- — what?"  said  Gardner.  "Clarence  is  the  limit,  of 
course,  but  don't  be  too  much  in  a  hurry,  old  girl. 
We'd  be — we'd  be  awfully  sorry  to  have  you  come  to  a 
smash,  don't  you  know — now!" 

Thus  Gardner.  Rachaei  gave  him  a  glimmering 
smile  in  the  early  dusk. 

"Not  much  fun  for  me,  Gardner,"  she  said 
gravely. 

"Sure  it's  not,"  Gardner  answered,  clearing  his 
throat  tremendously.  Neither  spoke  again  until  Flor- 
ence came  down,  but  later,  in  all  honesty,  he  told  his 


144  THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL 

wife  that  he  had  pitched  into  Rachael  no  end,  and  she 
had  agreed  to  go  slow. 

Florence,  however,  was  not  satisfied  with  so  brief  a 
campaign.  She  and  Rachael  did  not  speak  of  the 
topic  again  until  the  last  afternoon  of  Rachael's  stay. 
Then  the  visitor,  coming  innocently  downstairs  at  tea 
time,  was  a  little  confused  to  see  that  besides  Mrs. 
Bowditch  and  her  oldest  daughter,  and  old  Mrs.  Tor- 
rence,  the  Bishop  and  Mrs.  Thomas  were  calling.  In- 
stantly she  suspected  a  trap. 

"Rachael,  dear/'  Florence  said  sweetly,  when  the 
greetings  were  over,  "will  you  take  the  bishop  down  to 
look  at  the  sundial?  I've  been  boasting  about  it." 

"You  sound  like  a  play,  Florence,"  her  sister-in-law 
said  with  a  little  nervous  laugh.  ''Exit  Rachael  and 
Bishop,  L.'  Surely  you've  seen  the  sundial,  Bishop?" 

"I  had  such  a  brief  glimpse  of  it  on  the  day  of  the 
tea,"  Bishop  Thomas  said  pleasantly,  "that  I  feel  as  if 
I  must  have  another  look  at  that  inscription!"  Smiling 
and  benign,  rather  impressive  in  his  clerical  black,  the 
clergyman  got  to  his  feet-  and  turned  an  inviting  smile 
to  Rachael. 

"Shall  I  take  you  down,  Bishop?"  Charlotte  asked, 
her  eagerness  to  be  socially  useful  fading  into  sick  ap- 
prehension at  her  mother's  look. 

"No,  I'll  go!"  Rachael  ended  the  little  scene  by 
catching  up  her  wide  hat.  "Come  on,  Bishop,"  she 
said  courageously,  adding,  as  soon  as  they  were  out  of 
hearing,  "and  if  you're  going  to  be  dreadful,  begin  this 
moment!" 

"And  why,  pray,  should  I  be  dreadful?"  the  bishop 
asked,  smiling  reproachfully.  "Am  I  usually  so  dread- 
ful ?  I  don't  believe  it  would  be  possible,  among  these 
lovely  roses" — he  drew  in  a  great  breath  of  the  sweet 
afternoon  air — "and  with  such  a  wonderful  sunset 
telling  us  to  lift  up  our  hearts."  And  sauntering  con- 
tentedly along,  the  bishop  gave  her  an  encouraging 
smile,  but  as  Rachael  continued  to  walk  beside  him 
without  raising  her  eyes,  presently  he  added,  whim- 


THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL 

sically:  "Would  it  be  dreadful,  Mrs.  Breckenridge,  if 
one  saw  a  heedless  little  child — oh,  a  sweet  and  dear, 
but  a  heedless  little  child — going  too  near  the  cliffs — • 
would  it  be  dreadful  to  say:  'Look  out,  little  child! 
There's  a  terrible  fall  there,  and  the  water's  cold  and 
dark.  Be  careful!' '  The  bishop  sat  down  on  the 
carved  stone  bench  that  had  been  set  in  the  circle  of 
shrubs  that  surrounded  the  sundial,  and  Rachael  sat 
down,  too. 

"Well,  what  about  the  child?"  he  persisted,  when 
there  had  been  a  silence. 

Rachael  raised  sombre  eyes,  her  breast  rose  on  a  long 
sigh. 

"I  am  not  a  child,"  she  said  slowly. 

"Aren't  we  all  children?"  asked  the  bishop,  mildly 
triumphant. 

Rachael,  sitting  there  in  Florence's  garden,  looking 
down  at  the  white  roofs  of  the  village  and  the  smooth 
sheet  of  blue  that  was  Belvedere  Bay,  felt  a  burning 
resentment  enter  her  heart.  How  calm  and  smug  and 
sure  of  themselves  they  were,  these  bishops  and  Flor- 
ences and  old  lady  Gregorys!  How  easy  for  them  to 
advise  and  admonish,  to  bottle  her  up  with  their  little 
laws  and  platitudes,  these  good  people  married  to  other 
good  people,  and  wrapped  in  the  warmth  of  mutual 
approval  and  admiration!  The  bishop  was  talking 

"Children,  yes,  the  best  and  wisest  of  us  is  no  more 
than  that,"  he  was  saying  dreamily,  "and  we  must 
bear  and  forbear  with  each  other.  Not  easy?  Of 
course  it's  not  easy!  But  no  cross  no  crown,  you  know. 
I  have  known  Clarence  a  great  many  years ' 

"I  am  sorry  to  hurt  Florence — God  knows  I'm  sorry 
for  the  whole  thing!"  Rachael  said,  "but  you  must 
admit  that  I  am  the  best  judge  of  this  matter.  I've 
borne  it  long  enough.  My  mind  is  made  up.  You 
and  I  have  always  been  good  friends,  Bishop  Thomas" 
— she  laid  a  beautiful  hand  impulsively  on  his  arm — • 
"and  you  know  that  what  you  say  has  weight  with 
me.  But  believe  me,  I'm  not  jumping  hastily  into 


146  THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL 

this:  it's  come  after  long,  serious  thought.  Clarence 
wants  to  be  free  as  well " 

"Clarence  does?"  the  clergyman  asked,  with  a  dis- 
approving shake  of  his  head. 

"He  has  said  so,"  Rachael  answered  briefly. 

"And  what  will  your  life  be  after  this,  my  child  ?" 

To  this  she  responded  merely  with  a  shrug.  Per- 
haps the  bishop  suspected  that  such  a  calm  confidence 
in  the  future  indicated  more  or  less  definite  plans,  for 
he  gave  her  a  shrewd  and  searching  look,  but  there  was 
nothing  to  be  said.  The  lovely  lady  continued  to 
stare  at  the  soft  turf  with  unsmiling  eyes,  and  the 
clergyman  could  only  watch  her  in  puzzled  silence. 

"After  all,"  Rachael  said  presently,  giving  him  a 
rueful  glance,  "what  are  the  statistics?  One  marriage 
in  twelve  fails — fails  openly,  I  mean — for  of  course  there 
are  hundreds  that  don't  get  that  far.  Sixty  thousand 
last  year!" 

"If  those  are  the  statistics,"  said  the  bishop  warmly, 
"it  is  a  disgrace  to  a  Christian  country!" 

"But  you  don't  call  this  a  Christian  country?" 
Rachael  said  perversely. 

"It  is  supposedly  so,"  the  clergyman  asserted. 

"Supposedly  Christian,"  she  mused,  "and  yet  one 
marriage  out  of  every  twelve  ends  in  divorce,  and  you 
Christians — well,  you  don't  cut  us!  We  may  not  keep 
holy  the  Sabbath  day,  we  may  not  honor  our  fathers 
and  mothers,  we  may  envy  our  neighbor's  goods,  yes, 
and  his  wife,  if  we  like,  but  still — you  don't  refusejio 
come  to  our  houses ! " 

"I  don't  know  you  in  this  mood,"  said  Bishop 
Thomas  coldly. 

"Call  it  Neroism,  or  Commonsensism,  or  Modernism, 
or  anything  you  like,"  Rachael  said  with  sudden  fire, 
"but  while  you  go  on  calling  what  you  profess  Chris- 
tianity, Bishop,  you  simply  subscribe  to  an  untruth. 
You  know  what  our  lives  are,  myself  and  Florence 
and  Gardner  and  Clarence;  is  there  a  Commandment 
we  don't  break  all  day  long  and  every  day?  Do  we 


THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL  147 

give  our  coats  away,  do  we  possess  neither  silver  nor 
gold  in  our  purses,  do  we  love  our  neighbors?  Why 
don't  you  denounce  us?  Why  don't  you  shun  the 
women  in  your  parish  who  won't  have  children  as 
murderers  ?  Why  don't  you  brand  some  of  the  men 
who  come  to  your  church — men  whose  business  meth- 
ods you  know,  and  I  know,  and  all  the  world  knows — as 
thieves!" 

"And  what  would  my  branding  them  as  murderers 
and  thieves  avail?"  asked  the  bishop,  actually  a  little 
pale  now,  and  rising  to  face  her  as  she  rose.  "Are  we 
to  judge  our  fellowmen?" 

"I'm  not,"  Rachael  said,  suddenly  weary,  "but  I 
should  think  you  might.  It  would  be  at  least  refresh- 
ing to  have  you,  or  someone,  demonstrate  what 
Christianity  is.  It  would  be  good  for  our  souls.  In- 
stead," she  added  bitterly,  "instead,  you  select  one 
little  thing  here,  and  one  little  thing  there,  and  putter, 
and  tinker,  and  temporize,  and  gloss  over,  and  build  big 
churches,  with  mortgages  and  taxes  and  insurance  to 
pay,  in  the  name  of  Christianity!  If  I  were  little 
Annie  Smith,  down  in  the  village  here,  I  could  get  a 
divorce  for  twenty-five  dollars,  and  you  would  never 
hear  of  it.  But  Clarence  Breckenridge  is  a  millionaire, 
and  the  Breckenridges  have  gone  to  your  church  for 
a  hundred  years,  and  so  it's  a  scandal  that  must  be 
averted  if  possible!" 

"The  church  frowns  on  divorce,"  said  the  bishop 
sternly.  "At  the  very  present  moment  the  House  of 
Bishops,  to  which  I  have  the  distinguished  honor  to 
belong,  is  considering  taking  a  decided  stand  in  the 
matter.  Divorce  is  a  sin — a  sin  against  one  of  God's 
institutions.  But  when  I  find  a  lady  in  this  mood," 
he  continued,  with  a  sort  of  magnificent  forbearance, 
"I  never  attempt  to  combat  her  views,  no  matter  how 
extraordinarily  jumbled  and — and  childish  they  are. 
As  a  clergyman,  and  as  an  old  friend,  I  am  grieved  when 
I  see  a  hasty  and  an  undisciplined  nature  about  to  do 
that  which  will  wreck  its  own  happiness,  but  I  can  only 


148  i  THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL 

give  a  friendly  warning,  and  pass  on.  I  do  not  pro- 
pose to  defend  the  institution  to  which  I  have  dedicated 
my  life  before  you  or  before  anyone.  Shall  we  go 
back  to  the  house?" 

"Perhaps  we  had  better,"  Rachael  agreed.  And  as 
they  went  slowly  along  the  wide  brick  walk  she  added 
in  a  softened  tone:  "I  do  appreciate  your  affectionate 
interest  in — in  us,  Bishop.  But — but  it  does  exasper^ 
ate  me,  when  so  many  strange  things  are  done  in  the 
name  of  Christianity,  to  have — well,  Florence  for 
instance — calmly  decreeing  that  just  these  other  cer- 
tain things  shall  not  be  done!" 

"Then,  because  we  can't  all  be  perfect,  it  would  be 
better  not  to  try  to  be  good  at  all?"  the  bishop  asked, 
restored  to  equanimity  by  what  he  chose  to  consider 
an  unqualified  apology,  and  resuming  his  favorite  at- 
titude of  benignant  adviser. 

Rachael  sighed  wearily  in  the  depth  of  her  soul. 
She  knew  that  kindly  admonitory  tone,  that  compla- 
cent misconception  of  her  meaning.  She  said  to  her- 
self that  in  a  moment  he  would  begin  to  ask  himself 
questions,  and  answer  them  himself. 

"We  are  not  perfect  ourselves,"  said  the  clergyman 
benevolently,  "yet  we  expect  perfection  in  others.  Be- 
fore we  will  even  change  our  own  lives  we  like  to  look 
around  and  see  what  other  people  are  doing.  Perfectly 
natural?  Of  course  it's  perfectly  natural,  but  at  the 
same  time  it's  one  of  the  things  we  must  fight.  I  shall 
have  to  tell  you  a  little  story  of  our  Rose,  as  I  sometimes 
tell  some  of  my  boys  at  the  College  of  Divinity," 
continued  the  good  man.  Rose,  an  exemplary  un- 
married woman  of  thirty,  was  the  bishop's  daughter. 
"Rose,"  resumed  her  father,  "wanted  to  study  the 
violin  when  she  was  about  twelve,  and  her  peculiar 
old  pater  decided  that  first  she  must  learn  to  cook. 
Her  mother  quite  agreed  with  me,  and  the  young  lady 
was  accordingly  taken  out  to  the  kitchen  and  intro- 
duced to  some  pots  and  pans.  I  also  got  her  some 
book,  I've  forgotten  its  name — her  mother  would 


THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL  149 

remember;  'Complete  Manual  of  Cookery' — some- 
thing of  that  sort.  A  day  or  two  later  I  asked  her 
mother  how  the  cooking  went.  'Oh/  she  said,  'Rose 
has  been  reading  that  book,  and  she  knows  more  than 
all  the  rest  of  us!" 

Rachael  laughed  generously.  They  had  reached 
the  house  again  now,  and  Florence,  glancing  eagerly 
toward  them,  was  charmed  to  see  both  smiling.  She 
felt  that  the  bishop  must  have  influenced  Rachael, 
and  indeed  the  clergyman  himself  was  sure  that  her 
mood  was  softer,  and  found  opportunity  before  he 
departed  to  say  to  his  hostess  in  a  low  tone  that  he 
fancied  that  they  would  hear  no  more  of  the  whole 
miserable  business. 

"Oh,  Bishop,  how  wonderful  of  you!"  said  Florence 
thankfully. 


CHAPTER  VI 

Two  weeks  later  the  news  of  the  Breckenridge 
divorce  burst  like  a  bomb  in  the  social  sky.  Immedi- 
ately pictures  of  the  lovely  wife,  of  Clarence,  of  the 
town  house  and  the  country  house  began  to  flood  the 
evening  papers,  and  even  the  morning  journals  found 
room  for  a  column  or  two  of  the  affair  on  inside  pages. 
Clarence  was  tracked  to  his  mountain  retreat,  and  as 
much  as  possible  was  made  of  his  refusal  to  be  inter- 
viewed. Mrs.  Breckenridge  was  nowhere  to  be  found. 

The  cold  wind  of  publicity  could  not  indeed  reach 
her  in  the  quiet  lanes  and  along  the  sandy  shore  of 
Quaker  Bridge.  Rachael,  known  to  everyone  but  her 
kind  old  landlady  as  "Mrs.  Prescott,"  could  even 
glance  interestedly  at  the  papers  now  and  then.  Her 
identity,  in  three  long  and  peaceful  months,  was  not 
even  so  much  as  suspected.  She  did  not  mind  the 
plain  country  table,  the  inconvenient  old  farmhouse; 
she  loved  her  new  solitude.  Unquestioned,  she  dreamed 
through  the  idle  days,  reading,  thinking,  sleeping  like 
a  child.  She  spent  long  hours  on  the  seashore  watch- 
ing the  lazy,  punctual  flow  and  tumble  of  the  waves 
that  were  never  hurried,  never  delayed;  her  eyes  fol- 
lowed the  flashing  wings  of  the  gulls,  the  even,  steady 
upward  beat  of  strong  pinions,  the  downward  drifting 
through  blue  air  that  was  of  all  motion  the  most  per- 
fect. 

And  sometimes  in  those  hours  it  seemed  to  Rachael 
that  she  was  no  more  in  the  great  scheme  of  things  than 
one  of  these  myriad  gulls,  than  one  of  the  grains  of 
sand  through  which  she  ran  her  white,  unringed  fingers. 
Clarence  was  a  dream,  Belvedere  Bay  was  a  dream; 
it  was  all  a  hazy,  dim  memory  now:  the  cards  and  the 

ISO. 


THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL  151 

cocktails,  the  dancing  and  tennis,  the  powder  and  lip- 
red  in  hot  rooms  and  about  glittering  dinner  tables. 
What  a  hurry  and  bustle  and  rush  it  alt  was — for  noth- 
ing. The  only  actualities  were  the  white  sand  and  the 
cool  green  water,  and  the  summer  sun  beating  down 
warmly  upon  her  bare  head. 

She  awakened  every  morning  in  a  large,  bright,  bare 
room  whose  three  big  windows  looked  into  rustling 
maple  boughs.  The  steady  rushing  of  surf  could  be 
heard  just  beyond  the  maples.  Sometimes  a  soft  fog 
wrapped  the  trees  and  the  lawn  in  its  pale  folds,  and 
the  bell  down  at  the  lighthouse  ding-donged  through 
the  whole  warm,  silent  morning,  but  more  often  there 
was  sunshine,  and  Rachael  took  her  book  to  the  beach, 
got  into  her  stiff,  dry  bathing  suit,  in  a  small,  hot  bath- 
house furnished  only  by  a  plank  bench  and  a  few  rusty 
nails,  and  plunged  into  the  delicious  breakers  she  loved 
so  well.  Busy  babies,  digging  on  the  beach,  befriended 
her,  and  she  grew  to  love  their  sudden  tears  and  more 
sudden  laughter,  their  stammered  confidences,  and 
the  touch  of  their  warm,  sandy  little  hands.  She 
became  an  adept  at  pinning  up  their  tiny  bagging  under- 
garments, and  at  disentangling  hat  elastics  from  the 
soft  hair  at  the  back  of  moist  little  necks.  If  a  mother 
occasionally  showed  signs  of  friendliness,  Rachael  ac- 
cepted the  overture  pleasantly,  but  managed  to  wander 
next  day  to  some  other  part  of  the  beach,  and  so  evade 
the  definite  beginning  of  a  friendship. 

The  warm  sunshine,  flavored  by  the  salty  sea,  soaked 
into  her  very  bones.  Everything  about  Quaker  Bridge 
was  bare,  and  worn,  and  clean;  nothing  was  crowded, 
or  hurried,  or  false.  Barren  dunes,  and  white,  bleach- 
ing sand,  colorless  little  houses  facing  the  elm-lined 
main  street,  colorless  planks  outlining  the  road  to 
the  water;  the  monotonous  austerity,  the  pure  severity 
of  the  little  ocean  village  was  full  of  satisfying  charm 
for  her.  If  she  climbed  a  sandy  rise  beyond  Mrs. 
Dimmick's  cottage,  and  faced  the  north,  she  could  see 
the  white  roadway,  winding  down  to  Clark's  Bar, 


152  THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL 

where  the  ocean  fretted  year  after  year  to  free  the 
waters  of  the  bay  only  twelve  feet  away.  Beyond, 
on  the  slope,  was  the  village  known  as  Clark's  Hills,  a 
smother  of  great  trees  with .  a  weather-whipped  spire 
and  an  occasional  bit  of  roof  or  fence  in  evidence,  to 
show  the  habitation  of  man. 

In  other  directions,  facing  east  or  west  or  south, 
there  was  nothing  but  the  sand,  and  the  coarse  strag- 
gling bushes  that  rooted  in  the  sand,  and  the  clear 
blue  dome  of  the  sky.  Rachael,  whose  life  had  been 
too  crowded,  gloried  in  the  honey-scented  emptiness 
of  the  sand  hills,  the  measureless,  heaving  surf  ace  of  the 
ocean,  the  dizzying  breadth  and  space  in  which,  an 
infinitesimal  speck,  she  moved. 

She  had  sensibly  taken  her  landlady,  old  Mrs.  Dim- 
mick,  into  her  confidence,  and  pleased  to  be  part  of 
the  little  intrigue,  and  perhaps  pleased  as  well  to  rent 
her  two  best  rooms  to  this  charming  stranger,  the  old 
lady  protected  the  secret  gallantly.  It  was  all  much 
more  simple  than  Rachael  had  feared  it  would  be. 
Nobody  questioned  her,  nobody  indeed  paid  attention 
to  her;  she  wandered  about  in  a  blissful  isolation  as 
good  for  her  tired  soul  as  was  the  primitive  life  she 
led  for  her  tired  body. 

Yet  every  one  of  the  idle  days  left  its  mark  upon  her 
spirit;  gradually  a  great  many  things  that  had  seemed 
worth  while  in  the  old  life  showed  their  true  and  petty 
and  sordid  natures  now;  gradually  the  purifying  waters 
of  solitude  washed  her  soul  clean.  She  began  to  plan 
for  the  future — a  future  so  different  from  the  crowded 
and  hurried  past! 

Warren  Gregory's  letters  came  regularly,  postmarked 
London,  Paris,  Rome.  They  were  utterly  and  wholly 
satisfying  to  Rachael,  and  they  went  far  to  make  these 
days  the  happiest  in  her  life.  Her  heart  would  throb 
like  a  girl's  when  she  saw,  on  the  little  drop-leaf  table 
in  the  hallway,  the  big  square  envelope  addressed  in 
the  doctor's  fine  hand;  sometimes — again  like  a  girl 
— she  carried  it  down  to  the  beach  before  breaking  the 


THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL 

seal,  thrilled  with  a  thousand  hopes,  unready  to  put 
them  to  the  test.  Yesterday's  letter  had  said:  "My 
dearest," — had  said:  "Do  you  realize  that  I  will  see 
you  in  five  weeks?"  Could  to-day's  be  half  as  sweet? 

She  was  never  disappointed.  The  strong  tide  of  his 
devotion  for  her  rose  steadily  through  letter  after 
letter;  in  August  the  glowing  letters  of  July  seemed  cold 
by  contrast,  in  September  every  envelope  brought  her 
a  flaming  brand  to  add  to  the  fires  that  were  beginning 
to  blaze  within  her.  In  late  September  there  was 
an  interval;  and  Rachael  told  herself  that  now  he  was 
on  the  ocean — now  he  was  on  the  ocean 

By  this  time  the  digging  babies  were  gone,  the  beach 
was  almost  deserted.  Little  office  clerks,  men  and 
women,  coming  down  for  the  two  weeks  of  rest  that 
break  the  fifty  of  work,  still  arrived  on  the  late  train 
Saturday,  and  went  away  on  the  last  train  two  weeks 
from  the  following  Sunday,  but  there  were  no  more 
dances  at  the  one  big  hotel,  and  some  of  the  smaller 
hotels  were  closed.  The  tall,  plain,  attractive  woman 
• — with  the  three  children  and  the  baby,  who  drove  over 
from  Clark's  Hills  every  day,  and,  who,  for  all  her  gray- 
ing hair  and  sun-bleached  linens,  seemed  to  be  of 
Rachael's  own  world — still  brought  her  shrieking  and 
splashing  trio  to  the  beach,  but  she  had  confided  to 
Mrs.  Dimmick,  who  had  known  her  for  many  summers, 
that  even  her  long  holiday  was  drawing  to  a  close. 
Mrs.  Dimmick  brought  extra  blankets  down  from  the 
attic,  and  began  to  talk  of  seeing  her  daughter  in  Cali- 
fornia. Rachael,  drinking  in  the  glory  of  the  dying 
summer,  found  each  day  more  exquisite  than  the  last, 
and  gratified  her  old  hostess  by  expressing  her  desire 
to  spend  all  the  rest  of  her  life  in  Quaker  Bridge. 

She  had,  indeed,  come  to  like  the  villagers  thoroughly; 
not  the  summer  population,  for  the  guests  at  all  summer 
hotels  are  alike  uninteresting,  but  for  the  quiet  life 
that  went  on  year  in  and  year  out  in  the  little  side 
streets:  the  women  who  washed  clothes  and  swept 
porchesj,  who  gardened  with  tow-headed  babies  turn- 


154  THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL 

bling  around  them,  who  went  on  Sundays  to  the  little 
bald-faced  church  at  ten  o'clock.  Rachael  got  into 
talk  with  them,  trying  to  realize  what  it  must  be  to 
walk  a  hot  mile  for  the  small  transaction  of  selling  a 
dozen  eggs  for  thirty  cents,  to  spend  a  long  morning 
carefully  darning  an  old,  clean  Nottingham  lace  cur- 
tain that  could  be  replaced  for  three  dollars.  She 
read  their  lives  as  if  they  had  been  an  absorbing  book 
laid  open  for  her  eyes.  The  coming  of  the  Holladay 
baby,  the  decline  and  death  of  old  Mrs.  Bird,  the  nar- 
row escape  of  Sammy  Tew  from  drowning,  and  the 
thorough  old-fashioned  thrashing  that  Mary  Trimble 
gave  her  oldest  son  for  taking  a  little  boy  like  Sammy 
put  beyond  the  "heads," — all  these  things  sank  deep 
into  the  consciousness  of  the  new  Rachael.  She  liked 
the  whitewashed  cottages  with  their  blazing  geraniums 
and  climbing  honeysuckle,  and  the  back-door  yards, 
with  chickens  fluffing  in  the  dust,  and  old  men,  seated 
on  upturned  old  boats,  smoking  and  whittling  as  they 
watched  the  babies  "while  Lou  gets  her  work  caught 
up/' 

October  came  in  on  a  storm,  the  most  terrifying 
storm  Rachael  had  ever  seen.  Late  in  the  afternoon 
of  September's  last  golden  day  a  wind  began  to  rise 
among  the  dunes,  and  Rachael,  who,  wrapped  in  a 
white  wooly  coat  and  deep  in  a  book,  had  been  lying 
for  an  hour  or  two  on  the  beach,  was  suddenly  roused 
by  a  shower  of  sand,  and  sat  up  to  look  at  the  sky. 
Clouds,  low  and  gray,  were  moving  rapidly  overhead, 
and  although  the  tide  was  only  making,  and  high  water 
would  not  be  due  for  another  hour,  the  waves,  emerald 
green,  swift,  and  capped  with  white,  were  already  touch- 
ing the  landmost  water-mark. 

Quickly  getting  to  her  feet,  she  started  briskly  for 
home,  following  the  broken  line  of  kelp  and  weeds, 
grasses,  driftwood,  and  cocoanut  shells  that  fringed 
the  tide-mark,  and  rather  fascinated  by  the  sudden 
ominous  change  in  sea  and  sky.  In  the  little  village 
there  was  great  clapping  of  shutters  and  straining  of 


THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL  155 

clotheslines,  distracted,  bareheaded  women  ran  about 
their  dooryards,  doors  banged,  everywhere  was  rush 
and  flutter. 

"D'clare  if  don't  think  th'  folks  at  Clark's  Hills  going 
to  be  shut  of  completely,"  said  Mrs.  Dimmick,  bustling 
about  with  housewifely  activity,  and  evidently,  like 
all  the  village  and  like  Rachael  herself,  a  little  exhila- 
rated by  the  oncoming  siege. 

"What  will  they  do?"  Rachael  demanded,  unhook- 
ing a  writhing  hammock  from  the  porch  as  the  old 
woman  briskly  dragged  the  big  cane  rockers  indoors. 

"Oh,  ther'  wunt  no  hurt  come  t'um,"  Mrs.  Dimmick 
said.  "But — come  an  awful  mean  tide,  Clark's  Bar 
is  under  water.  They'll  jest  have  to  wait  until  she 
goes  down,  that's  all." 

"Shell  I  bring  up  some  candles  from  suller;  we  ain't 
got  much  karosene!"  Florrie,  the  one  maid,  demanded 
excitedly.  Chess,  the  hired  man,  who  was  Florae's 
"steady,"  began  to  bring  wood  in  by  the  armful,  and 
fling  it  down  by  the  airtight  stove  that  had  been  set 
up  only  a  few  days  before. 

The  wind  began  to  howl  about  the  roof;  trees  in  the 
dooryard  rocked  and  arched.  Darkness  fell  at  four 
o'clock,  and  the  deafening  roar  of  the  ocean  seemed  an 
actual  menace  as  the  night  came  down.  Chess  and 
Florrie,  after  supper,  frankly  joined  the  family  group 
in  the  sitting-room,  a  group  composed  only  of  Rachael 
and  Mrs.  Dimmick  and  two  rather  terrified  young  ste- 
nographers from  the  city. 

These  two  did  not  go  to  bed,  but  Rachael  went  up- 
stairs as  usual  at  ten  o'clock,  and  drifted  to  sleep  in  a 
world  of  creaking,  banging,  and  roaring.  A  confusion 
and  excited  voices  below  stairs  brought  her  down  again 
rather  pale,  in  her  long  wrapper,  at  three.  The  Bar- 
wicks,  mother,  father,  and  three  babies,  had  left  their 
beach  cottage  in  the  night  and  the  storm  to  seek  safer 
shelter  and  the  welcome  sound  of  other  voices  than  their 
own. 

After  that  there  was  little  sleep  for  anyone.     Still 


156  THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL 

in  the  roaring  darkness  the  clocks  presently  announced 
morning,  and  a  neighbor's  boy,  breathless,  dripping  in 
tarpaulins,  was  blown  against  the  door,  and  burst  in 
to  say  with  youthful  relish  that  the  porches  of  the 
Holcomb  house  were  under  water,  and  the  boardwalk 
washed  away,  and  folks  said  that  the  road  was  all  gone 
betwixt  here  and  the  lighthouse.  Rain  was  still  fall- 
ing in  sheets,  and  the  wind  was  still  high.  Rachael 
braved  it,  late  in  the  afternoon,  to  go  out  and  see  with 
her  own  eyes  that  the  surf  was  foaming  and  frothing 
over  the  deserted  bandstand  at  the  end  of  the  main 
street,  and  got  back  to  the  shelter  of  the  house  wet  and 
gasping,  and  with  the  first  little  twist  of  personal  fear 
at  her  heart.  Suppose  that  limitless  raging  green  wall 
down  there  rose  another  ten — another  twenty — feet, 
swept  deep  and  roaring  and  resistless  over  little  Quaker 
Bridge,  plunged  them  all  for  a  few  struggling,  hopeless 
moments  into  its  emerald  depths,  and  then  washed  the 
little  loosely  drifting  bodies  that  had  been  men  and 
women  far  out  to  sea  again? 

What  could  one  do?  No  trains  came  into  Quaker 
Bridge  to-day;  it  was  understood  that  there  were  wash- 
outs all  along  the  line.  Rachael  sat  in  the  dark,  stuffy 
little  sitting-room  with  the  placid  Barwick  baby 
drowsing  in  her  lap,  and  at  last  her  face  reflected  the 
nervous  uneasiness  of  the  other  women.  Every  time 
an  especially  heavy  rush  of  rain  or  wind  struck  the 
unsubstantial  little  house,  Mrs.  Barwick  said,  "Oh, 
my!"  in  patient,  hopeless  terror,  and  the  two  young 
women  looked  at  each  other  with  a  quick  hissing  breath 
of  fear. 

The  night  was  long  with  horror.  There  were  other 
refugees  in  Mrs.  Dimmick's  house  now;  there  were  in 
all  fifteen  people  sitting  around  her  little  stove  listen- 
ing to  the  wind  and  the  ocean.  The  old  lady  herself 
was  the  most  cheerful  of  the  group,  although  Rachael 
and  one  or  two  of  the  others  managed  an  appearance  at 
least  of  calm. 

"Declare,"  said  the  hostess,  more  than  once,  "dunt 


THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL  157 

see  what  we's  all  thinkin'  of  not  to  git  over  to  Clark's 
Hills  'fore  the  bar  was  under  water!  They've  got 
sixty-foot  elevation  there ! " 

"I'd  just  as  soon  try  to  get  there  now,"  said  Miss 
Stokes  of  New  York  eagerly. 

"There's  waves  eight  feet  high  washin'  over  that 
bar,"  Ernest  Barwick  said,  and  something  in  the  simple 
words  made  little  Miss  Stokes  look  sick  for  a  moment. 

"What's  our  elevation?"  Rachael  asked. 

"  'Bout "  Mr.  Barwick  paused.  "But  you  can't 

tell  nothing  by  that,"  he  contented  himself  with  re- 
marking after  a  moment's  thought. 

"  But  I  never  heard — I  never  heard  of  the  sea  coming 
right  over  a  whole  village!"  Rachael  hated  herself  for 
the  fear  that  dragged  the  words  out,  and  the  white 
lips  that  spoke  them. 

"Neither  did  I!"  said  half  a  dozen  voices.  There 
was  silence  while  the  old  clock  on  the  mantel  wheezed 
out  a  lugubrious  eight  strokes.  "Lord,  how  it  rains!" 
muttered  Emily  Barwick. 

Nine  o'clock — ten  o'clock.  The  young  women,  the 
old  woman,  the  maid  and  man  who  would  be  married 
some  day  if  they  lived,  the  husband  and  wife  who  had 
been  lovers  like  them  only  a  few  years  ago,  and  who 
now  had  these  three  little  lives  to  guard,  all  sat  wrapped 
in  their  own  thoughts.  Rachael  sat  staring  at  the 
stove's  red  eye,  thinking,  thinking,  thinking.  She 
thought  of  Warren  Gregory;  his  steamer  must  be  in 
now,  he  must  be  with  his  mother  in  the  old  house,  and 
planning  to  see  her  any  day.  To-morrow — if  there 
was  a  to-morrow — might  bring  his  telegram.  What 
would  his  life  be  if  he  might  never  see  her  again  ?  She 
could  not  even  leave  him  a  note,  or  a  word;  on  this 
eve  of  their  meeting,  were  they  to  be  parted  forever? 
Should  she  never  tell  him  how  dearly — how  dearly — 
she  loved  him  ?  Tears  came  to  her  eyes,  her  heart  was 
wrung  with  exquisite  sorrow. 

She  thought  of  Billy — poor  little  Billy — who  had 
never  had  a  mother,  who  needed  a  mother  so  sadly, 


158  THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL 

and  of  her  own  mother,  dead  now,  and  of  the  old  blue 
coat  of  thirteen  years  ago,  and  the  rough  blue  hat. 
She  thought  of  her  great-grandmother  in  the  little 
whitewashed  California  cottage  under  the  shadow  of 
the  blue  mountains,  with  the  lilacs  and  marigolds  in 
the  yard.  And  colored  by  her  new  great  love,  and 
by  the  solemn  fears  of  this  endless  night,  Rachael 
found  a  tenderness  in  her  heart  for  all  those  shadowy 
figures  that  had  played  a  part  in  her  life. 

At  midnight  there  came  a  thundering  crash  on  the 
ocean  side  of  the  house. 

"Oh,  God,  it's  the  sea!"  screamed  Emily  Barwick. 
They  all  rushed  to  the  door  and  flung  it  open,  and  in  a 
second  were  out  in  the  wild  blackness  of  the  night. 
Still  the  roaring  and  howling  and  shrieking  of  the  ele- 
ments, still  the  infuriated  booming  of  the  surf,  but — 
thank  God — no  new  sound.  There  was  no  break  in 
the  flying  darkness  above  them;  the  street  was  a  running 
sheet  of  water  in  the  dark. 

Yet  strangely  they  all  went  back  into  the  house 
vaguely  quieted.  Rachael  presently  said  that  no 
matter  what  was  going  to  happen,  she  was  too  cold 
and  tired  to  stay  up  any  longer,  and  went  upstairs  to 
bed.  Miss  Stokes  and  Miss  Me  Kim  settled  them- 
selves in  their  chairs;  Emily  Barwick  went  to  sleep 
with  her  head  against  her  husband's  thin  young  shoul- 
der. Somebody  suggested  coffee,  and  there  was  a  gen- 
eral move  toward  the  kitchen. 

Rachael,  a  little  bewildered,  woke  in  heavenly  sun- 
light in  exactly  the  position  she  had  taken  when  she 
crept  into  bed  the  night  before.  For  a  few  minutes 
she  lay  staring  at  the  bright  old  homely  room,  and  at 
the  clock  ticking  briskly  toward  nine. 

"Dear  Lord,  what  a  thing  sunshine  is!"  she  said  then 
slowly.  No  need  to  ask  of  the  storm  with  this  celestial 
reassurance  flooding  the  room.  But  after  a  few  mo- 
ments she  got  up  and  went  to  the  window.  The  trees, 
battered  and  torn,  were  ruffling  such  leaves  as  were  left 


THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL 

them  gallantly  in  the  wind,  the  paths  still  ran  yellow 
water,  the  roadway  was  a  muddy  waste,  eaves  were 
still  gurgling,  and  everywhere  was  the  drip  and  splash 
of  water.  But  the  sky  was  clear  and  blue,  and  the  air 
as  soft  as  milk. 

As  eager  as  a  child  Rachael  dressed  and  ran  down- 
stairs, and  was  put  in  the  new  world.  The  fresh  wind 
whipped  a  glorious  color  into  her  face;  the  whole  of 
sea  and  sky  and  earth  seemed  to  be  singing. 

Trees  were  down,  fences  were  down,  autumn  gardens 
were  all  a  wreck;  and  the  ocean,  when  she  came  to  the 
shore,  was  still  rolling  wild  and  high.  But  it  was 
blue  now,  and  the  pure  sky  above  it  was  blue,  and  there 
was  utter  protection  and  peace  in  the  sunny  air.  Land- 
marks all  along  the  shore  were  washed  away,  and  be- 
yond the  first  line  of  dunes  were  pools  left  by  the  great 
tide,  scummy  and  sinking  fast  into  the  sand,  to  leave 
only  a  fringe  of  bubbles  behind.  Minor  wreckages  of 
all  sorts  lay  scattered  all  along  the  beach:  poles  and 
ropes,  boxes  and  barrels. 

Rachael  walked  on  and  on,  breathing  deep,  swept  out 
of  herself  by  the  fresh  glory  of  the  singing  morning. 
Presently  she  would  go  back,  and  there  would  be 
Warren's  letter,  or  his  telegram,  or  perhaps  himself, 
and  then  their  golden  days  would  begin — their  happy 
time!  But  even  Warren  to-day  could  not  intrude  upon 
her  mood  of  utter  gratitude  and  joy  in  just  living — just 
being  young  and  alive  in  a  world  that  could  hold  such  a 
sea  and  such  a  sky. 

A  full  mile  from  the  village,  along  the  ocean  shore,  a 
stream  came  down  from  under  a  cliff,  a  stream,  as/ 
Rachael  and  investigating  children  had  often  proved 
to  their  own  satisfaction,  that  rose  in  a  small  but 
eminently  satisfactory  cave.  The  storm  had  washed 
several  great  smooth  logs  of  driftwood  into  the  cave, 
and  beyond  them  to-day  there  was  such  a  gurgling 
and  churning  going  on  that  Rachael,  eager  not  to  miss 
any  effect  of  the  storm,  stepped  cautiously  inside. 

The  augmented  little  river  was  three  times  its  usual 


160  THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL 

size,  and  was  further  made  unmanageable  by  the  im- 
peding logs  swept  in  by  the  high  tide.  Straw  and 
weeds  and  rubbish  of  every  description  choked  its 
course,  and  little  foaming  currents  and  backwaters 
almost  filled  the  cave  with  their  bubbling  and  swirling. 

Rachael,  with  a  few  casual  pushes  of  a  sturdy  little 
shoe,  accomplished  such  surprising  results  in  freeing 
and  directing  the  stream  that  she  fell  upon  it  in  sudden 
serious  earnest,  grasping  a  long  pole  the  better  to  push 
obstructing  matters  aside,  and  growing  rosy  and  breath- 
less over  her  self-imposed  and  senseless  undertaking. 

She  had  just  loosened  a  whole  tangle  of  wreckage, 
and  had  straightened  herself  up  with  a  long,  triumphant 
"Ah-h ! "  of  relief,  as  the  current  rushed  it  away,  when 
a  shadow  fell  over  the  mouth  of  the  cave.  Looking 
about  in  quick,  instinctive  fear,  she  saw  Warren  Greg- 
ory smiling  at  her. 

For  only  one  second  she  hesitated,  all  girlhood's 
radiant  shyness  in  her  face.  Then  she  was  in  his  arms, 
and  clinging  to  him,  and  for  a  few  minutes  they  did  not 
speak,  eyes  and  lips  together  in  the  wild  rapture  of 
meeting. 

"Oh,  Greg — Greg — Greg!"  Rachael  laughed  and 
cried  and  sang  the  words  together.  "When  did  you 
come,  and  how  did  you  get  here?  Tell  me — tell  me 
all  about  it!"  But  before  he  could  begin  to  answer 
her  their  eager  joy  carried  them  both  far  away  from 
all  the  conversational  landmarks,  and  again  they  had 
breath  only  for  monosyllables,  instinct  only  to  cling 
to  each  other. 

"My  girl,  my  own  girl!"  Warren  Gregory  said. 
"Oh,  how  I've  missed  you — and  you're  more  beautiful 
than  ever — did  you  know  it?  More  beautiful  even 
than  I  remembered  you  to  be,  and  that  was  beautiful 
enough ! " 

"Oh,  hush!"  she  said,  laughing, her  fingers  over  the 
aiouth  that  praised  her,  his  arm  still  holding  her  tight. 

"I'll  never  hush  again,  my  darling!  Never,  never 
in  all  the  years  we  spend  together!  I  am  going  to  tell 


THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL  161 

you  a  hundred  times  a  day  that  you  are  the  most  beauti- 
ful, and  the  dearest Oh,  Rachael,  Rachael,  shall 

I  tell  you  something?  It's  October!  Do  you  know 
what  that  means?" 

"Yes,  I  suppose  I  do!"  She  laughed,  and  colored 
exquisitely,  drawing  herself  back  the  length  of  their 
linked  arms. 

"Do  you  know  what  you're  going  to  be  in  about 
thirty-six  hours?" 

"Now — you  embarrass  me!  Was — was  anything 
settled?" 

"Shall  you  like  being  Mrs.  Gregory?" 

"Greg Tears  came  to  her  eyes.  "You  don't 

know  how  much ! "  she  said  in  a  whisper. 

They  sat  down  on  a  great  log,  washed  silver  white 
with  long  years  of  riding  unguided  through  the  seas, 
and  all  the  wonderful  world  of  blue  sky  and  white  sand 
might  have  been  made  for  them.  Rachael's  hand  lay 
in  her  lover's,  her  glorious  eyes  rarely  left  his  face. 
Browned  by  his  summer  of  travel,  she  found  him  better 
than  ever  to  look  upon;  hungry  after  these  waiting 
months,  every  tone  of  his  voice  held  for  her  a  separate 
delight. 

"Did  you  ever  dream  of  happiness  like  this. 
Rachael?" 

"Never — never  in  my  wildest  flights.  Not  even  in 
the  past  few  months!" 

"What— didn't  trust  me?" 

"No,  not  that.  But  I've  been  rebuilding,  body  and 
soul.  I  didn't  think  of  the  future  or  the  past.  It 
was  all  present." 

"With  me,"  he  said,  "it  was  all  future.  I've  been 
counting  the  days.  I've  not  done  that  since  I  was  at 
school!  Rachael,  do  you  remember  our  talk  the  night 
after  the  Berry  Stokes'  dinner?" 

"Do  I  remember  it?" 

"Ah,  my  dear,  if  anyone  had  said  that  night  that 
in  six  months  we  would  be  sitting  here,  and  that  you 
would  have  promised  yourself  to  me!  You  don't 


162  THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL 

to  mean  to  me,  my  dear- 


know  what  my  wife  is  going 
est.     I  can't  believe  it  yet!" 


It  is  going  to  mean  everything  in  life  to  me,"  she 
said  seriously.  "I  mean  to  be  the  best  wife  a  man 
ever  had.  If  loving  counts " 

"Do  you  mean  that?"  he  said  eagerly.  "Say  it — 
do  you  mean  that  you  love  me?" 

"Love  you?"  She  stood  up,  pressing  both  hands 
over  her  heart  as  if  there  were  real  pain  there.  For 
a  few  paces  she  walked  away  from  him,  and,  as  he 
followed  her,  she  turned  upon  him  the  extraordinary 
beauty  of  her  face  transfigured  with  strong  emotion. 

"Greg,"  she  said  quietly,  "I  didn't  know  there  was 
such  love!  I've  heard  it  called  fire  and  pain  and  rest- 
lessness, but  this  thing  is  me  I  It  is  burning  in  me  like 
flame,  it  is  consuming  me.  To  be  with  you" — she 
caught  his  wrist  with  one  hand,  and  with  her  free  hand 
pointed  out  across  the  smiling  ocean — "to  be  with 
you  and  know  you  were  mine,  I  could  walk  straight 
out  into  that  water,  and  end  it  all,  and  be  glad — glad 
— glad  of  the  chance!  I  loved  you  yesterday,  but 
what  is  this  to-day,  when  you  have  kissed  me,  and  held 
me  in  your  arms!"  Her  voice  broke  on  something 
like  a  sob,  but  her  eyes  were  smiling.  "All  my  life 
I've  been  asleep,"  said  Rachael.  "I'm  awake  now — 
I'm  awake  now!  I  begin  to  realize  how  helpless  one 
is — to  realize  what  I  should  have  done  if  you  hadn't 
come- 

"My  darling,"  Gregory  said,  his  arms  about  her 
"what  else — feeling  as  we  feel — could  I  have  done?" 

Held  in  his  embrace,  she  rested  her  hands  upon  his 
shoulders,  and  looked  wistfully  into  his  eyes. 

"It  is  as  we  feel,  isn't  it?"  she  said.  "I  mean,  it 
isn't  only  me?  You — you  love  me?" 

Looking  down  at  her  dropped,  velvety  lashes,  feel- 
ing the  warm  strong  beat  of  her  heart  against  his, 
holding  close  as  he  did  all  her  glowing  and  fragrant 
beauty,  Warren  Gregory  felt  it  the  most  exquisite 
moment  of  his  life.  Her  youth,  her  history,  her  won- 


THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL  163 

derful  poise  and  sureness  so  intoxicatingly  linked  with 
all  a  girl's  unexpected  shyness  and  adorable  uncer- 
tainties, all  these  combined  to  enthrall  the  man  who 
had  admired  her  for  many  years  and  loved  her  for 
more  than  one. 

"Love  you?"  he  asked,  claiming  again  the  lips  she 
yielded  with  such  a  delicious  widening  of  her  eyes  and 
quickening  of  breath. 

"You  see,  Warren,"  she  said  presently,  "I'm  not  a 
girl.  I  give  myself  to  you  with  a  knowledge  and  a  joy 
no  girl  could  possibly  have.  I  don't  want  to  coquette 
and  delay.  I  want  to  be  your  wife,  and  to  learn  your 
faults,  and  have  you  learn  mine,  and  settle  down  into 
harness — one  year,  five  years— ten  years  married!  Oh, 
you  don't  know  how  I  long  to  be  ten  years  married.  I 
shan't  mind  a  bit  being  nearly  forty.  ^  Forty — doesn't 
it  sound  settled,  and  sedate — and  that's  what  I  want. 
I — I  shall  love  getting  gray,  and  feeling  that  you  and 
I  don't  care  so  much  about  going  places,  don't  you  know? 
We'll  like  better  just  being  home  together,  won't  we? 
We're  older  than  most  people  now,  aren't  we?" 

He  laughed  aloud  at  the  bright  face  so  enchantingly 
young  in  its  restored  beauty.  He  had  expected  to 
find  her  charming,  but  in  this  new  phase  of  girlishness, 
of  happiness,  she  was  a  thousand  times  more  charm- 
ing than  he  had  dreamed.  It  was  hard  to  believe  that 
this  eager  girl  in  a  striped  blue  and  yellow  and  purple 
skirt,  and  rough  white  crash  hat,  was  the  bored,  the 
remote,  the  much-feared  Mrs.  Clarence  Breckenridge. 
Something  free  and  sweet  and  virginal  had  come  back 
to  her,  or  been  born  in  her.  She  was  like  no  phase  of 
the  many  phases  in  which  he  had  known  her;  she  was 
a  Rachael  who  had  never  known  the  sordid,  the  dis- 
illusioning side  of  life.  Even  her  seriousness  had  the 
confident,  eager  quality  of  youth,  and  her  gayety  was 
as  pure  as  a  child's.  She  had  cast  off  the  old  sophis- 
tication, the  old  recklessness  of  speech;  she  was  not 
even  interested  in  the  old  associates.  The  world  for 
her  was  all  in  him  and  their  love  for  each  other,  and 


164  THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL 

she  walked  back  to  Quaker  Bridge,  at  his  side,  too 
wholly  swept  away  from  all  self-consciousness  to  know 
or  to  care  that  they  were  at  once  the  target  for  all  eyes. 

A  wonderful  day  followed,  many  wonderful  days. 
Doctor  Gregory's  great  touring  car  and  his  liveried 
man  were  at  Mrs.  Dimmick's  door  when  they  got  back, 
an  incongruous  note  in  little  Quaker  Bridge,  still  gasp- 
ing from  the  great  storm. 

"Your  car?"  Rachael  said.     "You  drove  down?" 

"Yesterday.  I  put  up  at  Valentine's— George  Val- 
entine's, you  know,  at  Clark's  Hills." 

"Oh,  that's  my  nice  lady — gray  haired,  and  with 
three  children  ? "  Rachael  said  eagerly.  "  Do  you  know 
her?" 

"Know  her?  Valentine  is  my  closest  associate. 
They  meet  us  in  town  to-morrow:  he's  to  be  best  man. 
You'll  have  to  have  them  to  dinner  once  a  month  for 
the  rest  of  your  life!" 

The  picture  brought  her  happy  color,  the  shy  look 
he  loved. 

"I'm  glad,  Greg.     I  like  her  immensely!" 

They  were  at  the  car;  she  must  flush  again  at  the 
chauffeur's  greeting,  finding  a  certain  grave  significance, 
a  certain  acceptance,  in  his  manner. 

"Wife  and  baby  well,  Martin?" 

"Very  well,  thank  you,  Mrs.  Breckenridge." 

"Still  in  Belvedere  Hills?" 

"Well,  just  at  present,  yes,  Madam." 

"You  see,  I  am  looking  for  suitable  quarters  for  all 
hands,"  Doctor  Gregory  said,  his  laugh  drowning  hers, 
his  eyes  feasting  on  her  delicious  confusion.  She  was 
aware  that  feminine  eyes  from  the  house  were  watch- 
ing her.  Presently  she  had  kissed  Mrs.  Dimmick 
good-bye.  Warren  had  put  his  man  in  the  tonneau; 
he  would  take  the  wheel  himself  for  the  three  hours' 
run  into  town. 

"Good-bye,  my  dear!"  said  the  old  lady,  adding 
with  an  innocent  vacuity  of  manner  quite  character-, 


THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL  165 

istic  of  Quaker  Bridge.  "Let  me  know  when  the  weddin's 
goin'  to  be!" 

"I'll  let  you  know  right  now,"  said  Doctor  Greg- 
ory,  who,  gloved  and  coated,  was  bustling  about  the 
car,  deep  in  the  mysterious  rites  incidental  to  starting. 
"It's  going  to  be  to-morrow!" 

"Good  grief!"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Dimmick  delightedly. 
"Well,"  she  added,  "folks  down  here  think  you've  got 
an  awfully  pretty  bride!" 

"I'm  glad  she's  up  to  the  standard  down  here,"  War- 
ren Gregory  observed.  "Nobody  seems  to  think  much 
of  her  looks  up  in  the  city!" 

Rachael  laughed  and  leaned  from  her  place  beside 
the  driver  to  kiss  the  old  lady  again  and  to  wave  a 
general  good-bye  to  Florrie  and  Chess  and  the  group 
on  the  porch.  As  smoothly  as  if  she  were  launched  in 
air  the  great  car  sprang  into  motion;  the  storm-blown 
cottages,  the  battered  dooryards,  the  great  shabby 
trees  over  the  little  postoffice  all  swept  by.  They 
passed  the  turning  that  led  to  Clark's  Bar,  and  a  wea* 
ther-worn  sign-post  that  read  "Quaker  Bridge,  I  mile." 
It  was  not  a  dream,  it  was  all  wonderfully  true:  this 
was  Greg  beside  her,  and  they  were  going  to  be  mar- 
ried! 

Rachael  settled  back  against  the  deep,  soft  cushions 
in  utter  content.  To  be  flying  through  the  soft  Indian 
summer  sunshine,  alone  with  Greg,  to  actually  touch 
his  big  shoulder  with  her  own,  to  command  his  inter- 
est, his  laughter,  his  tenderness,  at  will — after  these 
lonely  months  it  was  a  memorable  and  an  enchanting 
experience.  Their  talk  drifted  about  uncontrolled, 
as  talk  after  long  silence  must:  now  it  was  a  waiter  on 
the  ocean  liner  of  whom  Gregory  spoke,  or  perhaps  the 
story  of  a  small  child's  rescue  from  the  waves,  from 
Rachael.  They  spoke  of  the  roads,  splendidly  hard 
and  clean  after  the  rain,  and  of  the  villages  through 
which  they  rushed. 

But  over  their  late  luncheon,  in  a  roadside  inn,  the 
talk  fell  into  deeper  grooves,  their  letters,  their  lone- 


166  THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL    , 

liness,  and  their  new  plans,  and  when  the  car  at  last 
reached  the  traffic  of  the  big  bridge,  and  Rachael  caught 
her  first  glimpse  of  the  city  under  its  thousand  smoking 
chimneys,  there  had  entered  into  their  relationship  a 
new  sacred  element,  something  infinitely  tender  and 
almost  sad,  a  dependence  upon  each  other,  a  oneness 
in  which  Rachael  could  get  a  foretaste  of  the  exquisite 
communion  so  soon  to  be. 

They  were  spinning  up  the  avenue,  through  a  city 
humming  with  the  first  reviving  breath  of  winter. 
They  were  at  the  great  hotel,  and  Rachael  was  laugh- 
ing in  Elinor  Vanderwall's  embrace.  The  linen  shop, 
the  milliner,  a  dinner  absurdly  happy,  and  one  of  the 
new  plays — a  sunshiny  morning  when  she  and  Elinor 
breakfasted  in  their  rooms,  and  opened  box  after  box 
of  gowns  and  hats — the  hours  fled  by  like  a  dream. 

"Nervous,  Rachael?"  asked  Miss  Vanderwall  of  the 
vision  that  looked  out  from  Rachael's  mirror. 

"Not  a  bit!"  the  wife-to-be  answered,  feeling  as  she 
said  it  that  her  hands,  busy  with  long  gloves,  were 
shaking,  and  her  knees  almost  unready  to  support  her. 

"It  must  be  wonderful  to  marry  a  man  like  Greg," 
said  the  bridesmaid  thoughtfully.  "He  simply  is 
everything  and  has  everything " 

"Ah,  Elinor,  it's  wonderful  to  marry  the  man  you 
love!"  Rachael  turned  from  the  mirror,  her  blue  eyes 
misted  with  tears  under  the  brim  of  her  wedding  hat. 

"You  /"  Elinor  smiled.  "That  I  should  live  to  see 
it!  You — in  love!" 

"And  unashamed,  and  proud  of  it!"  Rachael  said 
with  a  tremulous  laugh.  "Are  you  all  ready?  Shall 
we  go  down?"  She  turned  at  the  door  and  put  one 
arm  about  her  friend.  "  Kiss  me,  Elinor,  and  wish  me 
joy,"  said  she. 

"I  don't  have  to!"  asserted  Miss  Vanderwall,  with 
a  hearty  kiss  nevertheless,  "for  it  will  be  your  own 
fault  entirely  if  there's  ever  the  littlest,  teeniest  cloud 
in  the  sky!" 

END   OF   BOOK  I 


BOOK  II 


CHAPTER  I 

YET,  even  then,  as  Rachael  Gregory  admitted  to 
herself  months  later,  there  had  been  a  cloud  in  the  sky 
— a  cloud  so  tiny  and  so  vague  that  for  many  days  she 
had  been  able  to  banish  it  in  the  flooding  sunshine  all 
about  her  whenever  it  crossed  her  vision. 

But  it  was  there,  and  after  a  while  other  tiny  clouds 
came  to  bear  it  company,  and  to  make  a  formidable 
shadow  that  all  her  philosophy  could  not  drive  away. 
Philosophy  is  not  the  bride's  natural  right;  the  honey- 
moon is  a  time  of  unreason;  a  crumpled  rose-leaf  in 
those  first  uncertain  weeks  may  loom  larger  than  all 
the  far  more  serious  storms  of  the  years  to  come. 

Rachael,  loving  at  last,  was  overwhelmed,  intoxi- 
cated, carried  beyond  all  sanity  by  the  passion  that 
possessed  her. 

When  Warren  Gregory  came  to  find  her  at  Quaker 
Bridge  on  that  unforgettable  morning  after  the  storm, 
a  chance  allusion  to  Mrs.  Valentine,  the  charming  un- 
known lady  with  the  gray  hair,  had  distracted  Rachael's 
thoughts  from  the  point  at  issue.  But  later  on,  during 
the  long  drive,  she  had  remembered  it  again. 

"  But  Greg,  dear,  did  you  tell  me  that  you  and  Doctor 
Valentine  drove  down  yesterday  in  all  that  frightful 
storm?" 

"No,  no,  of  course  not,  my  child;  we  came  down 
late  the  night  before — why,  yesterday  we  couldn't 
get  as  far  as  the  gate!  Mrs.  Valentine's  brother  was 
there,  and  we  played  thirty-two  rubbers  of  bridge! 
Sweet  situation,  you  two  miles  away,  and  me  held 
up  after  three  months  of  waiting!" 

She  said  to  herself,  with  a  little  pain  at  her  heart, 

169 


170  THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL 

that  she  didn't  understand  it.  It  was  all  right,  of 
course,  whatever  Greg  did  was  all  right,  but  she  did  not 
understand  it.  To  be  so  near,  to  have  that  hideous 
war  of  wind  and  water  raging  over  the  world,  and  not 
to  come  somehow — to  swim  or  row  or  ride  to  her,  to 
bring  her  delicious  companionship  and  reassurance  out 
of  the  storm!  Why,  had  she  known  that  Greg  was  so 
near  no  elements  that  ever  raged  could  have  held 
her 

But  of  course,  she  was  reminding  herself  presently, 
Greg  had  never  been  to  Quaker  Bridge,  he  had  no 
reason  to  suppose  her  in  actual  danger;  indeed,  per- 
haps the  danger  had  always  been  more  imagined  than 
real.  If  his  hosts  had  been  merely  bored  by  the  wea- 
ther, merely  driven  to  cards,  how  should  he  be  alarmed  ? 

"Did  the  Valentines  know  what  a  tide  we  were 
having  in  Quaker  Bridge?"  she  asked,  after  a  while. 

"Never  dreamed  it;  didn't  know  we'd  been  cut  off 
until  it  was  all  over!"  That  was  reassuring,  at  least. 
"And,  you  see,  I  couldn't  say  much  about  our  plans. 
Alice  Valentine's  all  wool,  of  course,  but  she's  anything 
but  a  yard  wide!  She  wouldn't  have  understood — not 
that  it  matters,  but  it  was  easier  not!  She  was  sweet 
to  you  at  the  wedding,  and  she'll  ask  us  to  dinner,  and 
you  two  will  get  along  splendidly.  But  she's  not  as — 
big  as  George." 

"You  mean,  she  doesn't  like  the — divorce  part  of 
it?" 

"Or  words  to  that  effect,"  the  doctor  answered  com- 
fortably. "Of  course,  she'd  never  have  said  a  word. 
But  they  are  sort  of  simple  and  old-fashioned.  George 
understands — that's  all  I  care  about.  Do  you  see?" 

"I  see,"  she  answered  slowly.  But  when  he  spoke 
again  the  sunshine  came  back  to  her  heart;  he  had 
planned  this,  he  had  planned  that,  he  had  wired  Elinor, 
the  power  boat  was  ready.  She  was  a  woman,  after 
all,  and  young,  and  the  bright  hours  of  shopping,  of 
being  admired  and  envied,  and,  above  all,  of  being  so 
newly  loved  and  protected,  were  opening  before  her. 


THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL  171 

What  woman  in  the  world  had  more  than  she,  what 
woman  indeed,  she  asked  herself,  as  he  turned  toward 
her  his  keen,  smiling  look  of  solicitude  and  devotion, 
had  one-tenth  as  much? 

Later  on,  in  that  same  day,  there  was  another  tiny 
shadow.  Rachael,  however,  had  foreseen  this  moment, 
and  met  it  bravely. 

"How's  your  mother,  Greg?"  she  asked  suddenly. 

"Fine,"  he  answered,  and  with  a  swift  smile  for  her 
he  added,  "and  furious!" 

"No — is  she  really  furious?"  Rachael  asked, paling. 

"Now,  my  dearest  heart,"  Warren  Gregory  said 
with  an  air  of  authority  that  she  found  strangely  thrill- 
ing and  sweet,  "from  this  moment  on  make  up  your 
mind  that  what  my  good  mother  does  and  says  is 
absolutely  unimportant  to  you  and  me!  She  has  lived 
her  life,  she  is  old,  and  sick,  and  unreasonable,  and  what- 
ever we  did  wouldn't  please  her,  and  whatever  anyone 
does,  doesn't  satisfy  her  anyway!  In  forty  years — 
in  less  than  that,  as  far  as  Fm  concerned — you  and  I'll 
be  just  as  bad.  My  mother  acted  like  a  martyr  on 
the  steamer;  she  was  about  as  gay  with  her  old  friends 
in  London  as  you  or  I'd  be  at  a  funeral;  she  had  an  air 
of  lofty  endurance  and  forbearance  all  the  way,  and, 
as  I  said  to  Margaret  Clay  in  Paris,  the  only  time  I 
really  thought  she  was  enjoying  herself  was  when  she 
had  to  be  hustled  into  a  hospital,  and  for  a  day  or  two 
there  we  really  thought  she  was  going  to  have  pneu- 
monia!" 

Rachael's  delightful  laugh  rang  out  spontaneously 
from  utter  relief  of  heart. 

"Oh,  Greg,  you're  delicious!  Tell  me  about  old 
Lady  Frothingham,  is  she  difficult,  too?  And  how's 
pretty  Magsie  Clay?" 

"Now,  if  we're  married  to-morrow,"  the  doctor 
went  on,  too  much  absorbed  in  his  topic  to  be  lightly 
distracted.  "  But  do  you  hear  me,  Ma'am  ?  How  does 
it  sound?" 

"It  sounds  delicious!    Go  on!" 


172  THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL 

"If  we're  married  to-morrow,  I  say — it  could  be 
to-day  just  as  well,  but  I  suppose  you  girls  have  to 
buy  clothes,  and  have  your  hands  manicured,  and  so 


on- 
ce 


You  know  we  do,  to  say  nothing  of  lying  awake  all 
night  talking  about  our  beaux!" 

"Well" — he  conceded  it  somewhat  reluctantly — - 
"then,  to-morrow,  some  time  before  I  go  with  Valentine 
to  call  for  you,  111  go  down  to  see  my  mother.  She'll 
kiss  me,  and  sigh,  and  feel  martyred.  In  a  month  or 
two  she'll  call  on  me  at  the  office.  'Why  don't  you 
and  your  wife  come  to  see  me,  James?'  'Would  you 
like  us  to,  Mother?  We  fancied  you  were  angry  at  us.' 
'I  am  sorry,  my  son,  of  course,  but  I  have  never  been 
angry.  Will  you  come  to-morrow  night?'  And  when 
we  go,  my  dear,  you'd  never  dream  that  there  was 
anything  amiss,  I  assure  you!" 

"I'll  make  her  love  me!"  said  Rachael,  smiling 
•enderly. 

"Perhaps  some  day  you'll  have  a  very  powerful 
irgument,"  he  said  with  a  significant  glance  that 
brought  the  quick  blood  to  her  face.  "Mother  couldn't 
resist  that!" 

She  did  not  answer.  It  was  a  part  of  this  new  fresh- 
ness and  purity  of  aspect  that  she  could  not  answer. 

"You  asked  about  Margaret  Clay,"  the  doctor  re- 
membered presently.  "She  was  the  same  old  sixpence, 
only  growing  up  now;  she  owns  to  nineteen — isn't 
she  more  than  that?  She  always  did  romance  and 
yarn  so  much  about  herself  that  you  can't  believe  any- 
thing." 

"She's  about  twenty-one,  perhaps  no  more  than 
twenty,"  Rachael  said,  after  some  thought.  "Did 
they  say  anything  about  Parker  and  Leila?" 

"No,  but  the  old  lady  can't  do  much  harm  there. 
She'll  not  last  another  six  months.  She  may  leave 
Margaret  a  slice,  but  it  won't  be  much  of  a  slice,  for 
Parker  could  fight  if  it  was.  Leila's  pretty  safe.  We'll 
.have  to  go  to  that  wedding,  by  the  way!" 


THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL  173 

"Oh,  Greg,  the  fun  of  going  places  together!"  She 
was  her  happiest  self  again.  His  mother  and  Alice 
Valentine  and  everything  else  but  their  great  joy  was 
forgotten  as  they  lingered  over  their  luncheon  and 
planned  for  their  wedding  day. 

If  they  could  only  have  been  alone  together,  always, 
thought  the  new-made  wife,  when  two  perfect  weeks 
on  the  powerful  motor  boat  were  over,  and  all  the 
society  editors  were  busily  announcing  that  Doctor  and 
Mrs.  James  Warren  Gregory  were  furnishing  their 
luxurious  apartment  in  the  Rotterdam,  where  they 
would  spend  the  winter.  They  were  so  happy  together; 
there  was  never  enough  time  to  talk  and  to  be  silent, 
never  enough  of  their  little  luncheons  all  by  themselves, 
their  theatre  trips,  their  afternoon  drives  through  the 
sweet,  clear  early  winter  sunshine  on  the  Park. 

Always  in  the  later  years  Rachael  could  feel  the  joy 
of  these  days  again  when  she  caught  the  scent  of 
fresh  violets.  Never  a  day  passed  that  Warren  did 
not  send  her  or  bring  her  a  fragrant  boxful.  They 
quivered  on  the  breast  of  her  gown,  and  on  her  dressing- 
table  they  made  her  bedroom  sweet.  Now  and  then 
when  she  and  Warren  were  to  be  alone  she  braided  her 
dark  hair  and  wound  it  about  her  head,  tucking  a  few 
violets  against  the  rich  plaits,  conscious  that  the  classic 
simplicity  of  the  arrangement  enhanced  her  beauty, 
and  was  pleased  in  his  pleasure. 

It  suited  her  whim  to  carry  out  the  little  affectation 
in  her  soaps  and  toilet  waters;  he  could  not  pick  up  her 
handkerchief  or  hold  her  wrap  for  her  without  freeing 
the  delicate  faint  odor  of  her  favorite  flower.  When 
they  met  downtown  for  dinner  there  was  always  the 
little  ceremony  of  finding  the  florist,  and  all  the  operas 
this  winter  were  mingled  for  Rachael  with  the  most 
exquisite  fragrance  in  the  world. 

These  days  were  perfect.  It  was  only  when  the  out- 
side world  entered  their  paradise  that  anything  less 
than  perfect  happiness  entered,  too.  Rachael's  old 


174  THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL 

friends — Judy  Moran,  Elinor,  and  the  Villalongas — • 
said,  and  said  with  truth,  that  she  had  changed.  She 
had  not  tried  to  change,  but  it  was  hard  for  her  to  get 
the  old  point  of  view  now,  to  laugh  at  the  old  jokes, 
to  listen  to  the  old  gossip.  She  had  been  cold  and 
wretched  only  a  year  before,  but  she  had  had  the 
confident  self-sufficiency  of  a  gypsy  who  walks  bare- 
headed and  irresponsible  through  a  world  whose  treas- 
ure will  never  come  her  way.  Now  Rachael,  tremulous 
and  afraid,  was  the  guardian  of  the  great  treasure, 
she  knew  now  what  love  meant,  and  she  could  no  longer 
face  even  the  thought  of  a  life  without  love. 

Tirelessly,  and  with  increasing  satisfaction,  she 
studied  her  husband's  character,  finding,  like  all  new 
wives,  that  almost  all  her  preconceived  ideas  of  him 
had  been  wrong.  Like  all  the  world,  she  had  always 
fancied  Greg  something  of  an  autocrat,  positive  almost 
to  stubbornness  in  his  views. 

Now  it  was  amusing  to  discover  that  he  was  really 
a  rather  mild  person,  except  where  his  work  was  con- 
cerned, rarely  taking  the  initiative  in  either  praising  or 
blaming  anybody  or  anything,  deeply  influenced  by 
the  views  of  other  persons,  and  content  to  be  rather 
a  listener  and  onlooker  than  an  active  participant  in 
what  did  not  immediately  concern  him.  Rachael 
found  this,  for  some  subtle  reasons  of  her  own,  highly 
pleasing.  It  made  her  less  afraid  of  her  husband's 
criticism,  and  spared  her  many  of  those  tremors  com- 
mon to  the  first  months  of  married  life.  Also,  it  gave 
her  an  occasional  chance  to  influence  him,  even  to  pro- 
tect him  from  his  own  indifference  to  this  issue  or  that. 

She  laughed  at  him,  accusing  him  of  being  an  im- 
postor. Why,  everyone  thought  Dr.  Warren  Gregory, 
with  his  big  scowl  and  his  firm-set  jaw,  was  an 
absolute  Tartar,  she  exulted,  when  as  a  matter  of 
fact  he  was  only  a  little  boy  afraid  of  his  wife!  He 
hated,  she  learned,  to  be  uncertain  as  to  just  the  degree 
of  dressing  expected  of  him  on  different  occasions,  he 
hated  to  enter  hotels  by  the  wrong  doors,  to  hear  her 


THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL  175 

dispraise  an  opera  generally  approved,  or  find  good  in  a 
book  branded  by  the  critics  as  worthless.  With  all  his 
pride  in  her  beauty,  he  could  not  bear  to  have  her 
conspicuous;  if  her  laughter  or  her  unusual  voice  at- 
tracted any  attention  in  a  public  place,  she  could  see 
that  it  made  him  uncomfortable.  These  things  Rachael 
might  have  considered  flaws  in  another  man.  In 
Warren  they  were  only  deliciously  amusing,  and  his 
reliance  upon  her,  where  she  had  expected  only  absolute 
self-possession  from  him,  seemed  to  make  him  more  her 
own. 

Rachael,  daughter  of  wandering  adventurers,  had  a 
thousand  times  more  assurance  than  he.  In  her  secret 
heart  she  had  no  regard  for  any  social  law;  society  was  a 
tool  to  be  used,  not  a  weight  under  which  one  struggled 
helplessly.  She  dictated  where  he  followed  prece- 
dent; she  laughed  where  he  was  filled  with  apprehen- 
sion. Seriously,  she  set  her  wits  and  her  love  to  the 
task  of  accustoming  him  to  joy,  and  day  by  day  he 
flung  off  the  old,  half-defined  reluctances  that  still 
bound  him,  and  entered  more  fully  into  the  delights 
of  the  care-free,  radiant  hours  that  lay  before  them. 

His  wife  saw  the  change  in  him,  and  rejoiced.  But 
what  she  did  not  see,  as  the  months  went  on,  was  the 
no  less  marked  change  in  herself.  As  Warren's  nature 
expanded,  and  as  he  began  to  reach  quite  naturally 
for  the  various  pleasures  all  about  him,  Rachael's  soul 
experienced  an  alteration  almost  directly  opposed. 

She  became  thoughtful,  almost  reserved,  she  began 
to  show  a  certain  respect  for  convention — not  for  the 
social  conventions  at  which  she  had  always  laughed, 
and  still  laughed,  but  for  the  fundamental  laws  of 
truth,  simplicity,  and  cleanness,  upon  which  the  ideal 
of  civilization,  at  least,  is  based.  She  noticed  that  she 
was  beginning  to  like  "good"  persons,  even  homely, 
dowdy,  good  persons,  like  Alice  and  George  Valentine. 
She  lost  her  old  appetite  for  scandal,  for  ugly  stories, 
for  reckless  speech. 

Warren,  freed  once  and  for  all  from  his  old  prejudice, 


176  THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL 

found  nothing  troublesome  now  in  the  thought  that 
she  had  been  another  man's  wife;  it  was  a  common 
situation,  it  was  generally  approved.  As  in  other 
things,  he,  had  had  stupidly  conventional  ideas  about 
it  once — that  was  all.  But  Rachael  winced  at  the 
sound  of  the  word  "divorce,"  not  because  of  her 
own  divorce,  but  at  the  thought  that  some  other  man 
and  woman  had  promised  in  their  first  love  what  later 
they  could  not  fulfil,  and  hated  each  other  now  where 
they  had  loved  each  other  once,  at  the  thought  that 
perhaps — perhaps  one  of  them  loved  the  other  still! 

"Divorce  is — monstrous,"  she  said  soberly  to  her 
husband  in  one  of  their  hours  of  perfect  confidence. 

"How  can  we  say  it,  of  all  persons,  my  darling? 
Don't  be  hidebound!" 

"No,"  she  smiled  reluctantly,  "I  suppose  we  can't. 
But — but  I  never  feel  like  a  divorced  woman,  Warren, 
I  feel  like  a  different  woman,  but  not  as  if  that  term 
fitted  me.  It  sounds  so — coarse.  Don't  you  think  it 
does?" 

"No,  I  never  thought  of  it  quite  that  way.  Every- 
one makes  mistakes,"  he  answered  cheerfully. 

"Don't  you  care — that  it's  true  of  me?"  she  asked. 

"Are  you  trying  to  make  me  jealous,  you  gypsy!" 
he  laughed.  But  there  was  no  answering  laughter  in 
her  face. 

"Yes,  perhaps  I  am,"  she  admitted,  as  if  she  were 
a  little  surprised  that  it  was  so.  And  in  her  next  slowly 
worded  sentence  she  discovered  for  herself  another 
truth.  "I  mind  it,  Warren!"  she  said.  "I  wish,  with 
all  my  heart,  that  it  wasn't  so!" 

"That  isn't  very  consistent,  sweet.  Your  life  made 
you  what  you  were,  the  one  woman  in  the  world  I  could 
ever  have  loved.  Why  quarrel  with  the  process?" 

"I  wish  you  cared!"  she  said  wistfully. 

"Cared?" 

"Yes — suffered  over  it — objected.  Then  I  could 
keep  proving  to  you  that  I  never  in  my  life  loved  any- 
one, man,  woman,  or  child,  until  now!" 


THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL  177 

"But  I  believe  that,  my  darling!" 

She  smiled  at  his  wide,  innocent  look,  a  mother's 
amused  yet  hopeless  smile,  and  as  they  rose  from  their 
late  luncheon  he  put  his  arm  about  her  and  tipped  her 
beautiful  face  up  toward  his  own. 

"Don't  you  realize,  my  darling,  that  just  as  you  are, 
you  are  perfect  to  me — not  nearly  perfect,  or  ninety- 
nine  per  cent,  perfect,  but  pressed  down  and  running 
over,  a  thousand  per  cent.,  a  million  per  cent.?"  he 
asked. 

Her  dark  beauty  glowed;  she  was  more  lovely  than 
ever  in  her  exquisite  content. 

"Oh,  Warren,  if  you'd  only  say  that  to  me  over  and 
over!"  she  begged. 

"Dear  Heaven,  hear  the  woman!  What  else  do  I 
do?" 

"Oh,  I  don't  mean  now.  I  mean  always,  all  through 
our  lives.  It's  all  I.  want  to  hear!" 

"Do  you  realize  that  you  are  an  absolute — little — 
tyrant?"  he  asked,  laughing.  Radiantly  she  laughed 
back. 

"I  only  realize  one  thing  in  these  days,"  she  an- 
swered; "I  only  live  for  one  thing!" 

It  was  true.  The  world  for  her  now  was  all  in  her 
husband,  his  smile  was  her  light,  and  she  lived  almost 
perpetually  in  the  sunshine.  When  they  were  parted 
— and  they  were  never  long  parted — the  memory  of 
this  glance  or  that  tone,  this  eager  phrase  or  that 
sudden  laugh,  was  enough  to  keep  her  happy.  When 
they  met  again,  whether  she  came  to  meet  him  in  his 
own  hallway,  or  rose,  lovely  in  her  furs,  and  walked 
toward  him  in  some  restaurant  or  hotel,  joy  lent  her  r 
new  and  almost  fearful  beauty.  To  dress  for  him,  to 
make  him  laugh,  to  hold  his  interest,  this  was  all  that 
interested  her,  and  for  the  world  outside  of  their  own 
house  she  cared  not  at  all.  They  had  their  own  vo- 
cabulary, their  own  phrases  for  moments  of  mirth  or 
tenderness;  among  her  gowns  he  had  his  favorites*, 


178  THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL 

among  the  many  expressions  of  his  sensitive  face  there 
were  some  that  it  was  her  whimsical  pleasure  always 
to  commend.  Their  conversation,  as  is  the  way  with 
lovers,  was  all  of  themselves,  and  all  of  praise. 

Long  before  they  were  ready  for  the  world  it  began 
to  make  its  demands.  Rachaei  loved  her  own  home 
— they  had  chosen  a  large  duplex  apartment  on  River- 
side Drive — loved  the  memorable  little  meals  they  had 
before  the  fire,  the  lazy,  enchanting  hours  of  reading  or  of 
music  in  the  big  studio  that  united  the  two  large  floors, 
the  scent  of  her  husband's  cigar,  the  rustle  of  her  own 
gown,  the  snow  slipping  and  lisping  against  the  win- 
dow, and  it  was  with  great  reluctance  that  she  surren- 
dered even  one  evening.  But  there  was  hospitable 
Vera  Villalonga  and  her  dreadful  New  Year's  dance, 
and  there  were  the  Bowditch  dinner  and  the  Hoyt 
dinner  and  the  Parmalee's  dance  for  Katrina.  Un- 
willingly the  beautiful  Mrs.  Gregory  yielded  to  the 
swift  current,  and  presently  they  were  caught  in  the 
rush  of  the  season,  and  could  not  have  withdrawn  then> 
selves  except  for  serious  cause. 

Rachaei  smiled  a  little  wryly  one  morning  over 
Mrs.  George  Valentine's  cordially  worded  invitation 
to  an  informal  dinner,  but  she  accepted  it  as  a  matter 
of  course,  and  wore  her  most  beautiful  gown.  She  de- 
liberately set  out  to  capture  her  hostess'  friendship, 
and  simple,  sweet  Mrs.  Valentine  could  not  long  resist 
her  guest's  beauty  and  charm — such  a  young,  fresh 
creature  as  she  was,  not  a  bit  one's  idea  of  an  adven- 
turess, so  genuinely  interested  in  the  children,  so  ob- 
viously devoted  to  Warren. 

Rachaei,  on  her  side,  contemplated  the  Valentines 
with  deep  interest.  She  found  them  a  rather  puzzling 
study,  unlike  any  married  couple  that  she  had  ever 
chanced  to  know.  Alice  was  one  of  those  good,  homely, 
unfashionable  women  who  seem  utterly  devoid  of  the 
instinct  for  dressing  properly.  Her  masses  of  dull 
brown  hair  she  wore  strained  from  her  high  forehead 
and  wound  round  her  head  in  a  fashion  hopelessly 


THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL  179 

obsolete.  Her  evening  gown,  of  handsome  gray  silk, 
was  ruined  by  those  little  fussy  touches  of  lace  and 
ruffling  that  brand  a  garment  instantly  as  "home- 
made." 

George  was  one  of  the  plainest  of  men,  shy,  awkward, 
insignificant  looking,  with  a  long-featured,  pleasant 
face,  and  red  hair.  Warren  had  told  his  wife  at  various 
times  that  George  was  "a  prince,"  and  physically,  at 
least,  Rachael  found  him  disappointing,  especially 
beside  her  own  handsome  husband.  She  knew  he 
Was  clever,  with  a  large  practice  besides  his  work 
as  head  surgeon  at  one  of  the  big  hospitals,  but  Warren 
had  added  to  this  the  information  that  George  was  a 
poor  business  man,  and  ill  qualified  to  protect  his  own 
interests. 

Yet,  in  his  own  home — a  handsome  and  yet  shabby 
brownstone  house  in  the  West  Fifties — he  appeared 
to  better  advantage.  There  was  a  brightness  in  his 
plain  face  when  he  looked  at  his  wife,  and  an  adoring 
response  in  her  glance  that  after  twelve  years  of 
married  life  seemed  admirable  to  Rachaei.  "Alice" 
was  a  word  continually  on  his  lips;  what  Alice  said 
and  thought  and  did  was  evidently  perfection.  Before 
the  Gregorys  had  been  ten  minutes  in  the  house  on 
their  first  visit  he  had  gone  downstairs  to  inspect  the 
furnace,  wound  and  set  a  stopped  clock,  answered  the 
telephone  twice,  and  fondly  carried  upstairs  a  refrac- 
tory four-year-old  girl,  who  came  boldly  down  in  her 
nightgown,  with  reproaches  and  requests.  On  his  re- 
turn from  this  trip  he  brought  down  the  one-year-old 
baby,  another  girl,  delicious  in  the  placid  hour  between 
supper  and  bed,  and  he  and  his  wife  and  Warren  Greg- 
ory exchanged  admiring  glances  as  the  beautiful  Mrs. 
Gregory  took  the  child  delightedly  in  her  arms,  con- 
trasting her  own  dark  and  glowing  loveliness  with  the 
tiny  Katharine's  gold  and  roses. 

It  was  a  quiet  evening,  but  Rachael  liked  it.  She 
liked  their  simple,  affectionate  talk,  their  reminiscences, 
the  serenity  of  the  large,  plainly  furnished  rooms,  the 


180  THE  HEART  OF  HACHAEL 

glowing  of  coal  fires  in  the  old-fashioned  steel-barred 
grates.  She  liked  Alice  Valentine's  placidity,  the 
sureness  of  herself  that  marked  this  woman  as  more 
highly  civilized  than  so  many  of  the  other  women 
Rachael  knew.  There  was  none  of  Judy's  and  Ger- 
trude's and  Vera's  excitability  and  restlessness  here. 
Alice  was  concerned  neither  with  her  own  appearance 
nor  her  own  wants;  she  was  free  to  comment  with 
amusement  or  wonder  or  admiration  upon  larger  af. 
fairs.  Rachael  wondered,  as  beautiful  women  have 
wondered  since  time  began,  what  held  this  man  so 
tightly  to  this  mild,  plain  woman,  and  by  what  special 
gift  of  the  gods  Alice  Valentine  might  know  herself 
secure  beyond  all  question  in  a  world  of  beauty  and 
charm  and  youth. 

"Well,  what  d'you  think  of  her,  Alice?"  Doctor 
Gregory  had  asked  proudly  when  his  wife  was  on  his 
arm  and  leave-taking  was  in  order. 

"Think  you're  lucky,  Greg,"  Mrs.  Valentine  an- 
swered earnestly.  "You've  got  a  dear,  good,  lovely 
wife!" 

"And  you  are  going  to  let  me  come  and  make  friends 
with  the  boy  and  the  girls  some  afternoon?"  Rachael 
asked. 

"If  you  will"  their  mother  said,  and  she  and  Rachael 
kissed  each  other.  Gregory  chuckled,  in  high  feather, 
all  the  way  home. 

"You're  a  wonder,  Ladybird!  I  have  never  seen  you 
sweeter  nor  prettier  than  you  were  to-night!" 

Rachael  leaned  back  in  the  car  with  a  long,  con- 
tented sigh. 

"One  can  see  that  she  was  all  ready  to  hate  me,  Greg; 
a  woman  who  had  been  married,  and  who  snapped  up 
her  favorite  bachelor " 

He  laughed  triumphantly.  "She  doesn't  hate  you 
now!" 

"No,  and  I'll  see  to  it  that  she  never  does.  She's 
my  sort  of  woman,  and  the  children  are  absolute  loves ! 
I  like  that  sort  of  old-fashioned  prejudice — honestly 


THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL  181 

I  do — that  honor-thy-father-and-thy-mother-and-keep 
holy-the-sabbath-day  sort  of  person.  Don't  you, 
Greg?" 

"We — 11,  I  don't  like  narrowness,  sweet." 

"No."  Rachael  pondered  in  the  dark.  "Yet  if 
you're  not  narrow  you  seem  to  be — really  the  only 
word  for  it  is — loose,"  she  submitted.  "Somehow 
lately,  a  great  many  persons — the  girls  I  know — do  seem 
to  be  a  little  bit  that  way." 

"You  don't  find  them  judging  you!"  her  husband 
said.  Rachael  answered  only  by  a  rather  faint  nega- 
tive; she  would  not  elucidate  further.  This  was  one 
of  the  things  she  could  never  tell  Warren,  a  thing  in- 
deed that  she  would  hardly  admit  to  her  own  soul. 

But  she  said  to  herself  that  she  knew  now  the  worst 
evil  of  divorce.  She  knew  that  it  coarsened  whom- 
ever it  touched,  that  it  irresistibly  degraded,  that  it 
lowered  all  the  human  standard  of  goodness  and  endur- 
ance, and  self-sacrifice.  However  justified,  it  was  an 
evil;  however  properly  consummated,  it  soiled  the 
little  group  it  affected.  The  disinclination  of  a  good 
woman  like  Alice  Valentine  to  enter  into  a  close  friend- 
ship with  a  younger  and  richer  and  more  beautiful 
woman  whose  history  was  the  history  of  Rachael  Greg- 
ory was  no  mere  prejudice.  It  was  the  feeling  of  a 
restrained  and  disciplined  nature  for  an  unchecked  and 
ill-regulated  one;  it  was  the  feeling  of  a  woman  who, 
at  any  cost,  had  kept  her  solemn  marriage  vow  to* 
ward  a  woman  who  had  broken  her  word. 

Rachael  was  beginning  to  find  it  more  comprehensible,, 
even  more  acceptable,  than  the  attitude  of  her  own  old 
world.  Fresh  from  the  Eden  that  was  her  life  with 
Warren,  she  had  turned  back  to  the  friends  whose  view- 
point had  been  hers  a  few  months  ago. 

Were  they  changed,  or  was  she  ?  Both  were  changed, 
she  decided.  She  had  been  a  cold  queen  among  them 
once,  flattered  by  their  praise  and  laughter,  reckless  in 
speech,  and  almost  as  reckless  in  action.  But  now  her 
only  kingdom  was  in  Warren  Gregory's  heart.  She 


182  THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL 

had  no  largesse  for  these  outsiders;  she  could  not  answer 
them  with  her  old  quick  wit  now;  indeed  she  hardly 
heard  them.  And  on  their  side,  where  once  there  had 
been  that  certain  deference  due  to  the  woman  who, 
however  wretched  and  neglected,  was  still  Clarence 
Breckenridge's  wife,  now  she  noticed,  with  quick  shame, 
a  familiarity,  a  carelessness,  that  indicated  plainly 
exactly  the  fine  claim  to  delicacy  that  she  had  forfeited. 
Her  position  in  every  way  was  better  now  than  it  had 
been  then.  But  in  some  subtle  personal  sense  she  had 
lost  caste.  A  story  was  ventured  when  she  chanced  to 
be  alone  with  Frank  Whittaker  and  George  Pomeroy 
that  her  presence  would  have  forbidden  in  the  old 
days,  and  Allen  Parmalee  gave  her  a  sensation  of  ab- 
solute sickness  by  merrily  introducing  her  to  his  sisteF 
from  Kentucky  with  the  words:  "Don't  stare  at  her 
so  hard,  Bess!  Of  course  you  remember  her:  she  was 
Mrs.  Breckenridge  last  year,  but  now  she's  making  a 
much  better  record  as  Mrs.  Gregory!" 

The  women  were  even  more  frank;  Clarence's  name 
was  often  mentioned  in  her  presence;  she  was  quite 
simply  congratulated  and  envied. 

"My  dear,5'  said  Mrs.  Cowles,  at  a  women's  luncheon, 
"you  were  extraordinarily  clever,  of  course,  but  don't 
forget  that  you  were  extremely  lucky,  too.  Clarence 
making  no  fuss,  taking  all  the  trouble  to  provide  the 
evidence,  and  Greg  being  only  too  anxious  to  step  into 
his  shoes,  made  it  easy  for  you!" 

"I'm  no  prude,"  Rachael  smiled,  over  a  raging  heart. 
"But  I  couldn't  see  this  coming,  nobody  did.  All  I 
could  do  was  to  break  free  before  my  self-respect  was 
absolutely  gone!" 

"Go  tell  that  to  the  White  Wings,  darling,"  laughed 
Mrs.  Villalonga,  lazily  blowing  smoke  into  rings  and 
spirals. 

"Seriously,  Vera,  I  mean  it!" 

"Seriously,  Rachael,  do  you  mean  to  tell  me  that 

you  hadn't  the  slightest  idea "  Mrs.  Villalonga 

roused  herself,  to  smilingly  study  the  other  woman's 


THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL  183 

face  as  she  asked  the  question.  "Not  a  word — not 
a  hint?" 

"Ah,  well "  Rachael's  face  was  flaming.  She 

would  have  put  her  hand  in  the  fire  to  be  able  to  say 
"No."  The  others  laughed  cheerfully. 

"Nobody  misunderstands  you,  dear:  you  were  in  a 
rotten  fix  and  you  got  out  of  it  nicely/5  said  fat  Mrs. 
Moran,  and  Mrs.  Villalonga  added  consolingly:  "Why, 
my  heavens,  Rachael,  Fd  leave  Booth  to-morrow  for 
anyone  half  as  handsome  as  Warren  Gregory!" 

In  March  the  Gregorys  sent  out  cards  for  their  first 
really  large  entertainment,  a  Mardi-Gras  ball.  Rachael 
and  Warren  spent  many  happy  hours  planning  it :  the 
studio  was  to  be  cleared,  two  other  big  rooms  turned 
into  one  for  the  supper,  music  for  dancing,  musical 
numbers  for  the  entertainment;  it  would  be  perfect 
in  every  detail,  one  of  the  notable  affairs  of  the  winter. 
Rachael  hailed  it  as  the  end  of  the  season.  They  were 
to  make  a  flying  trip  to  the  Bermudas  in  April,  and  after 
that  Rachael  happily  planned  a  month  or  two  in  the 
almost  deserted  city  before  Warren  would  be  free  to 
get  away  to  the  mountains  or  the  boat.  It  was  with  a 
delightful  sense  of  freedom  that  she  realized  that  her 
first  winter  in  her  new  role  was  nearly  over.  Next 
winter  her  divorce  and  remarriage  would  be  an  old 
story,  there  would  be  other  gossip  more  fascinating 
and  more  new,  she  would  be  taken  quite  for  granted. 
Again,  she  might  more  easily  evade  the  social  demand 
next  winter  without  exposing  herself  to  the  charge  of 
being  fickle  or  changed.  This  year  her  brave  and 
dignified  facing  of  the  world  had  been  a  part  of  the 
price  she  paid  for  her  new  happiness.  Now  it  was 
paid. 

And  for  another  reason,  half-defined,  Rachael  was 
glad  to  see  the  months  go  by.  She  had  been  Warren 
Gregory's  wife  for  nearly  six  months  now,  and  the 
rapture  of  being  together  was  still  as  great  for  them 
both  as  it  had  been  in  the  first  radiant  days  of  their 


184  THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL 

marriage.  For  herself,  indeed,  she  knew  that  the  joy 
was  constantly  deepening,  and  even  the  wild  hunger 
and  passion  of  her  heart  could  find  no  flaw  in  his  devo- 
tion. Her  surrender  to  him  was  with  a  glorious  and 
unashamed  completeness,  the  tones  of  her  extraordinary 
Voice  deepened  when  she  spoke  to  him,  and  in  her  eyes 
all  who  looked  might  read  the  story  of  insatiable  and 
yet  satisfied  love. 


CHAPTER  II 

PLANS  for  the  big  dance  presently  began  to  move, 
briskly,  and  there  was  much  talk  of  the  affair.  As 
hostess,  Rachael  would  not  mask,  nor  would  Warren, 
but  they  were  already  amusing  themselves  with  the 
details  of  elaborate  costumes.  Warren's  rather  stern 
and  classic  beauty  was  to  be  enhanced  by  the  blue  and 
buff  of  an  officer  of  the  Revolution,  fine  ruffles  falling 
at  wrist  and  throat,  wide  silver  buckles  on  square-toed 
shoes,  and  satin  ribbon  tying  his  white  wig.  Rachael, 
separately  tempted  by  the  thought  of  Dutch  wooden 
shoes  and  of  the  always  delightful  hoop  skirts,  even- 
tually abandoned  both  because  it  was  not  possible 
historically  to  connect  either  costume  with  the  one  upon 
which  Warren  had  decided.  She  eventually  deter- 
mined to  be  the  most  picturesque  of  Indian  maidens, 
with  brown  silk  stockings  disappearing  into  moccasins, 
exquisite  beadwork  upon  her  fringed  and  slashed  skirt, 
feathers  in  her  loosened  hair,  and  a  small  but  matchless 
tiger  skin,  strapped  closely  across  her  back,  to  lend  a 
touch  of  distinction  to  the  costume. 

On  the  Monday  evening  before  the  dance  she  tried 
on  her  regalia  and  appeared  before  her  husband  and 
three  or  four  waiting  dinner  guests,  so  exquisite  a  vision 
of  glowing  and  radiant  beauty  that  their  admiration 
was  almost  a  little  awed.  Her  cheeks  were  crimson 
between  her  loosened  rich  braids  of  hair;  her  eyes  shone 
deeply  blue,  and  the  fantastic  costume,  with  its  flutter- 
ing strips  of  leather  and  richly  colored  wampum,  gave 
an  extraordinary  quality  of  youth  and  almost  of  frailty 
to  her  whole  aspect. 

"The  woman  just  sent  this  home.  I  couldn't  resist 
showingyou!"  said  Rachael,  in  a  shower  of  compliments. 


186  THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL 

" Isn't  my  tiger  a  darling?  Warren  went  six  hundred 
and  seventy-two  places  to  catch  him.  Of  course  there 
never  was  a  stripey  tiger  like  this  in  North  America, 
but  what  care  I?  I'm  only  a  poor  little  redskin)  a 
trifling  inconsistency  like  that  doesn't  worry  me  /" 

"Me  taky  you  my  wikiup — huh  !"  said  Frank  Whit- 
taker  invitingly.  "  You  my  squaw  ? " 

"Come  here,  Hattie  Fishbpy,"  said  her  husband, 
'catching  her  by  the  arm.  His  face  showed  no  more 
than  an  amused  indulgence  to  her  caprice,  but  Rachael 
knew  he  was  pleased.  "Well,  when  you  first  planned 
this  outfit  I  thought  it  was  going  to  be  an  awful  mess," 
said  he,  turning  her  slowly  about.  "But  it  isn't  so 
bad!" 

"Isn't  so  bad!"  Mrs.  Bowditch  said  scornfully; 
"it's  the  loveliest  thing  I  ever  saw.  I'll  tell  you  what, 
Rachael,  if  you  come  down  to  Easthampton  this  summer 
we'll  have  a  play,  and  you  can  be  an  Indian " 

"I'd  love  it,"  Rachael  said,  and  making  a  deep  bow 
before  her  husband  she  added:  "I'll  be  Squaw-Afraid- 
of-Her-Man!' 

She  heard  them  laughing  as  she  ran  upstairs  to 
change  to  a  more  conventional  dress. 

"Etta,"  said  she,  consigning  the  Indian  costume  to 
her  maid,  "I'm  too  happy  to  live!" 

Etta,  one  of  those  homely,  conscientious  women 
who  extract  in  some  mysterious  way  an  actual  pride 
and  pleasure  from  the  beauty  of  the  women  whom  they 
serve,  smiled  faintly  and  dully. 

"The  weather's  getting  real  nice  now,"  she  submitted, 
as  one  who  will  not  discourage  a  worthy  emotion. 

Rachael  laughed  out  joyously.  The  next  instant 
she  had  flung  up  a  window  and  leaned  out  in  the  spring 
darkness.  Trees  on  the  drive  were  rustling  over  pools 
of  light,  a  lighted  steamboat  went  slowly  up  the  river, 
the  brilliant  eyes  of  motor  cars  curved  swiftly  through 
the  blackness.  A  hurdy-gurdy,  guarded  by  two  shad- 
owy forms,  was  pouring  out  a  wild  jangle  of  sound 
from  the  curb.  When  the  window  was  shut,  a  moment 


THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL  187 

later,  the  old  Italian  man  and  woman  who  owned  the 
musical  instrument  decided  that  they  must  mark  this 
apartment  house  for  many  a  future  visit,  and,  chattering 
hopefully,  went  upon  their  way.  The  belladonna  in 
the  spangled  gown,  who  had  looked  down  upon 
them  for  a  brief  interval,  meanwhile  ran  down  to  her 
guests. 

She  was  in  wild  spirits,  inspired  with  her  most  en- 
chanting mood;  for  an  hour  or  two  there  was  no  re- 
sisting her.  Mrs.  Whittaker  and  Mrs.  Bowditch  fell 
as  certainly  under  her  spell  as  did  the  three  men.  "She 
really  has  changed  since  she  married  Greg,"  said  Louise 
Bowditch  to  Mrs.  Whittaker;  "but  it's  all  nonsense — 
this  talk  about  her  being  no  more  fun!  She's  more  fun 
than  ever!" 

"She's  prettier  than  ever/'  Gertrude  Whittaker  said 
'with  a  sigh. 

The  next  afternoon,  a  dreary,  wet  afternoon,  at 
about  four  o'clock,  Warren  Gregory  stepped  out  of  the 
elevator,  and  quietly  admitted  himself  to  his  own  halk 
way  with  a  latchkey.  It  was  an  unusual  hour  for  the 
doctor  to  come  home,  and  in  the  butler's  carefully 
commonplace  tone  as  he  answered  a  few  questions, 
Warren  knew  that  he  knew. 

The  awning  had  been  stretched  across  the  sidewalk, 
caterers'  men  were  in  possession,  the  lovely  spacious 
rooms  were  full  of  flowers;  the  big  studio  had  been 
emptied  of  furniture,  there  were  great  palms  massed 
in  the  musicians'  corner;  maids  were  quietly  busy 
everywhere;  no  eye  met  the  glance  of  the  man  of  the 
house  as  he  went  upstairs. 

He  found  Mrs.  Gregory  alone  in  her  own  luxurious 
room.  No  one  who  had  seen  her  in  the  excited  beauty 
of  the  night  before  would  have  been  likely  to  recognize 
her  now.  She  was  pale,  tense,  and  visibly  nervous, 
wrapped  in  a  great  woolly  robe,  as  if  she  were  cold, 
and  with  her  hair  bound  carelessly  and  tightly  back  as 
a  woman  binds  it  for  bathing. 


188  THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL 

"You've  seen  it?"  she  said  instantly,  as  her  husband 
came  in. 

"  George  called  my  attention  to  it;  I  came  straight 
home.  I  knew"- — he  was  kneeling  beside  her,  one 
arm  about  her,  all  his  tenderness  and  devotion  in  his 
face — "I  knew  you'd  need  me." 

She  laid  an  arm  about  his  neck,  sighed  deeply,  but 
continued  to  stare  distractedly  beyond  him. 

"Warren,  what  shall  we  do?"  she  said  with  a  cer- 
tain vagueness  and  brokenness  in  her  manner  that  he 
found  very  disquieting. 

"Do,  sweetheart?"  he  echoed  at  a  loss. 

"With  all  those  people  coming  to-night,"  she  added, 
!  mildly  impatient. 

"Why,  what  can  we  do,  dear?" 

"You  don't  mean,"  Rachael  said  incredulously, 
"that  we  shall  have  to  go  on  with  it?" 

" Think  a  minute,  dearest.     Why  shouldn't  we?" 

"But" — her  color,  better  since  his  entrance,  was 
waning  again — "with  Clarence  Breckenridge  dying 
while  we  dance!"  she  shuddered. 

"Could  anything  be  more  preposterous  than  your 
letting  anything  that  concerns  Clarence  Breckenridge 
affect  what  you  do  now?"  he  asked  with  kindly  pa- 
tience. 

"No,  it's  not  that!"  she  answered  feverishly.  "But 
— but  for  any  old  friend  one  would — would  make  a 
difference,  and  surely — surely  he  was  more  than  that ! " 

"He  was  more  than  that,  of  course,  but  he  has  been 
less  than  nothing  to  you  for  a  long  time!" 

"Yes,  legally — technically,  of  course,"  Rachael 
agreed  nervously.  She  sat  silent  for  a  moment, 
frowning  over  some  sombre  thought.  "But,  Warren, 
they'll  all  know  of  it,  they'll  all  be  thinking  of  it,"  she 
said  presently.  "I — really  I  don't  think  I  can  go 
through  it!" 

"It's  too  bad,  of  course,"  Warren  Gregory  said 
with  his  arm  still  about  her.  "I'd  give  ten  thousand 
dollars  to  have  had  the  poor  fellow  select  some  other 


THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL  189 

time.  But  you've  had  nothing  to  do  with  it,  and  you 
simply  must  put  it  out  of  your  mind!" 

"It  was  Billy's  marriage,  of  course!" 

"Of  course.  She  was  married  yesterday,  you  see, 
the  day  she  came  of  age.  Poor  kid — it's  rather  a 
sad  start  for  her,  especially  with  no  one  but  Joe  Picker- 
ing to  console  her!" 

"She  was  mad  about  her  father,"  Rachael  said  in  a 
preoccupied  whisper.  "Poor  Billy — poor  Billy!  She 
never  crossed  him  in  anything  but  this.  What  did 
you  see  it  in?" 

"  The  World.     How  did  you  hear  it  ? " 

"Etta  brought  up  the  paper."  She  closed  her  eyes 
and  leaned  back  in  her  chair.  "It  seemed  to  jump  at 
me — his  picture  and  the  name.  Is  he  living — where  is 
he?" 

"At  St.  Mark's.  He  won't  live.  Poor  fellow!" 
Warren  Gregory  scowled  thoughtfully  as  he  gave  a 
moment's  thought  to  the  other  man's  situation,  and 
then  smiled  sunnily  at  his  wife  with  a  brisk  change  of 
topic.  "Well,"  he  said  cheerfully,  "is  anyone  in  this 
place  glad  to  see  me,  or  not,  or  what?" 

"It  just  seems  to  me  that  I  cannot  face  all  those 
people  to-night!"  Rachael  said,  giving  him  a  quick, 
unthinking  kiss  before  she  gently  put  him  away  from 
her,  and  got  to  her  feet.  "It  seems  so  wrong — so 
coarse — to  be  utterly  and  totally  indifferent  to  the 
man  who  was  my  husband  a  year  ago.  I  don't  love 
him,  he  is  nothing  to  me,  but  it's  all  wrong,  this  way. 
If  it  was  Peter  Pomeroy  or  Joe  Butler,  of  course  we'd 

put  off  our  dance-^ Warren,"  she  turned  to  him 

with  sudden  hope  in  her  eyes,  "do  you  suppose  any- 
body'Hcome?" 

"My  dear  girl,"  he  said,  displeased,  "why  are  you 
working  yourself  into  a  fever  over  this  ?  It's  most  un- 
fortunate, but  as  far  as  you're  concerned,  it's  unavoid- 
able, and  you'll  simply  have  to  put  a  brave  face  on  it, 
and  get  through  it  somehow  I  I  am  absolutely  confident 
that  when  you've  pulled  yourself  together  you'll  come 


190  THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL 

through  with  flying  colors.  Of  course  everyone*!! 
come;  this  is  their  chance  to  show  you  exactly  how 
little  they  ever  think  of  you  as  Breckenridge's  wife^ 
And  this  is  your  chance,  too,  to  act  as  if  you'd  never 
heard  of  him.  Dash  it!  it  does  spoil  our  little  party, 
but  it  can't  be  helped ! " 

"Do  you  suppose  Billy's  with  him?"  Rachael  asked, 
her  absent,  glittering  eyes  fixed  upon  her  own  person 
as  she  sat  before  her  mirror. 

"Oh,  no — she  and  Pickering  sailed  yesterday  for 
England — that's  the  dreadful  thing  for  her.  Clarence 
evidently  spent  the  whole  night  at  the  club,  sitting  in 
the  library,  thinking.  Berry  Stokes  went  in  for  his 
mail  after  the  theatre,  and  they  had  a  little  talk.  He 
promised  to  dine  there  to-night.  At  about  ten  this 
morning  Billings,  the  steward  there,  saw  old  Maynard 
going  out — Maynard 's  one  of  the  directors — and  asked 
him  if  he  wouldn't  please  go  and  speak  to  Mr.  Brecken- 
ridge.  Mayn  went  over  to  him,  and  Clarence  said, 
*  Any  thing  you  say ' ' 

Rachael  gave  a  gasp  that  was  like  a  shriek,  and  put 
her  two  elbows  on  the  dressing-table,  and  her  face  in 
her  hands.  It  was  Clarence's  familiar  phrase. 

"Oh,  don't— don't— don't— Greg ! " 

"Well,  that  was  all  there  was  to  it,"  her  husband 
said,  watching  her  anxiously.  "He  had  the  thing  in 
his  pocket.  He  stood  up — everybody  heard  it.  Fel- 
lows came  rushing  in  from  everywhere.  They  got  him 
to  a  hospital." 

"Florence  is  with  him,  of  course?" 

"Florence  is  at  Palm  Beach." 

"Then  who  is  with  him,  Greg?" 

"My  dear  girl,  how  do  I  know?  It's  none  of  my 
affair!" 

Rachael  sat  still  for  perhaps  two  minutes,  while  her 
husband,  ostentatiously  cheerful,  moved  about  the  room 
selecting  a  change  of  clothes. 

"To-rnorrow  you  can  take  it  as  hard  as  you  likef 
sweet/'  said  he.  "But  to-night  you'll  have  to  face  the 


THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL  191 

music!  Now  get  into  something  warm — it's  a  little 
cool  out — and  I'll  take  you  for  a  spin,  and  we'll  have 
dinner  somewhere.  Then  we'll  get  back  here  about 
eight  o'clock,  and  take  our  time  dressing." 

"Yes,  I'll  do  that,"  Rachael  agreed  automatically. 
A  moment  later  she  said  urgently:  "Warren,  isn't 
there  a  chance  that  I'm  right  about  this?  Mightn't 
it  be  better  simply  to  telephone  everyone  that  the 
dance  is  postponed  ?  Make  it  next  week,  or  Mi-Careme 
• — anything.  If  they  talk — let  them!  I  don't  care 
what  they  say.  They'll  talk  anyway.  But  every 
fibre  of  my  being,  every  delicate  or  decent  instinct  I 
ever  had,  rebels  against  this.  Say  I'm  not  well,  and 
let  them  buzz!  I  know  what  you  are  going  to  say — I 
know  that  it  would  seem  less  sensitive,  less  fine,  to 
mourn  for  one  man  while  I'm  another  man's  wife,  than 
to  absolutely  ignore  what  happens  to  him,  but  you 
know  what's  the  truth!  I  never  loved  him,  and  I  love 
every  hair  of  your  head — you  know  that.  Only " 

She  stopped  short,  baffled  by  the  difficulty  of  ex- 
pressing herself  accurately. 

"If  you  really  love  me,  do  what  I  ask  you  to-night," 
Warren  Gregory  said  firmly. 

His  wife  sat  as  if  turned  to  stone  for  only  a  few 
seconds.  When  she  spoke  it  was  naturally  and  cheer- 
fully. 

"I'll  be  ready  in  no  time,  dear.  Where  are  we  to 
dine?"  She  glanced  at  her  little  crystal  clock  as  she 
spoke,  as  if  she  were  computing  casually  the  length  of 
the  drive  before  dinner.  But  what  she  said  in  her  heart 
was,  "At  this  time  to-morrow  it  will  all  have  been  over 
for  many  hours!" 

A  few  days  later  the  Gregorys  sailed  for  Bermuda, 
Rachael  with  a  sense  of  whipped  and  smarting  shame 
that  was  all  the  more  acute  because  she  could  not 
share  it  with  this  dearest  comrade  and  confidant. 
Warren  thought  indeed  that  the  miserable  episode  of 
the  past  week  had  been  dismissed  from  her  mind,  and 


192  THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL 

delighting  like  a  boy  in  the  little  holiday,  and  proud  of 
his  beautiful  wife,  he  found  their  hours  at  sea  cloud* 
less.  With  two  men,  whose  acquaintance  was  made 
on  the  steamer,  they  played  bridge,  and  Rachael's 
game  drew  other  players  from  all  sides  to  watch  her 
leads  and  grin  over  her  bidding.  They  walked  up 
and  down  the  deck  for  hours  together,  they  lay  side  by 
side  in  deck  chairs  lazily  watching  the  blue  water 
creep  up  and  down  the  painted  white  ropes  of  the  rail; 
but  they  never  spoke  of  Clarence  Breckenridge. 

The  Mardi-Gras  dance  had  been  like  a  hideous  dream 
to  Rachael.  She  had  known  that  it  would  be  hard 
from  the  first  sick  moment  in  which  the  significance  of 
Clarence's  suicide  had  rushed  upon  her.  She  had 
known  that  her  arriving  guests  would  be  gay  and 
conversational,  that  the  dance  and  the  supper  would 
go  with  a  dash  and  swing  which  no  other  circumstance 
could  more  certainly  have  assured  for  them;  and  she 
knew  that  in  every  heart  would  be  the  knowledge  that 
Clarence  Breckenridge  was  dying  by  his  own  hand, 
and  his  daughter  on  the  ocean,  and  that  this  woman 
in  the  Indian  dress,  with  painted  lips  and  a  tiger 
skin  outlining  her  beautiful  figure,  had  been  his 
wife. 

This  she  had  expected,  and  this  was  as  she  had  ex- 
pected. But  there  were  other  circumstances  that 
made  her  feel  even  more  acutely  the  turn  of  the  screw. 
Joe  Butler,  always  Clarence's  closest  friend,  did  not 
come  to  the  dance,  and  at  about  twelve  o'clock  an 
innocent  maid  delivered  to  Warren  a  message  that 
several  persons  besides  Warren  heard:  "Mr.  Butler 
to  speak  to  you  on  the  telephone,  Doctor  Gregory." 

Everyone  could  surmise  where  Joe  Butler  was,  but 
no  one  voiced  the  supposition.  Warren,  handsome  in 
his  skirted  coat,  knee  breeches,  and  ruffles,  disappeared 
from  the  room,  and  the  dancing  went  on.  The  scene 
was  unbelievably  brilliant,  the  hot,  bright  air  sweet 
with  flowers  and  perfume,  and  the  more  subtle  odors 
of  silk  and  fine  linen  and  powder  on  delicate  skin. 


THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL  193 

Warren  was  presently  among  them  again,  and  there 
was  a  supper,  the  hostess'  lovely  face  showing  no  more 
strain  or  concern  than  was  natural  to  a  woman  eager  to 
make  comfortable  nearly  a  hundred  guests. 

After  supper  there  was  more  dancing,  and  an  aug- 
mented gayety.  There  were  no  more  telephone  mes- 
sages, nor  was  there  any  definite  foundation  for  the 
rumor  that  was  presently  stealthily  circulating.  Wo- 
men, powdering  their  noses  as  they  waited  for  their 
wraps,  murmured  it  in  the  dressing-rooms;  a  clown, 
smoking  in  the  hall,  confided  it  to  a  Mephistopheles; 
a  pastry  cook,  after  his  effusive  good-nights,  confirmed 
it  as  he  climbed  into  the  motorcar  that  held  the  Pierrette 
who  was  his  wife:  "Dead,  poor  fellow!" 

"Dead,  poor  Clarence!",  said  Mrs.  Prince,  mag* 
nificent  as  Queen  Elizabeth,  as  she  and  Elinor  Vanderwall 
went  downstairs.  She  had  once  danced  a  fancy  dance 
with  him  more  than  twenty  years  ago.  "Awful!** 
said  Elinor,  shuddering. 

After  the  last  guest  was  gone  Warren  telephoned  to 
the  hospital,  Rachael,  a  little  tired  and  pale  in  the 
Indian  costume,  watching  and  listening  tensely.  She 
was  sick  at  heart.  Even  into  the  library,  where  they 
stood,  the  Mardi-Gras  disorder  had  penetrated:  a  blue 
silk  mask  was  lying  across  Warren's  blotter,  a  spatter 
of  confetti  lay  on  the  polished  floor,  and  on  the  reading 
table  was  a  tray  on  which  were  two  glasses  through 
whose  amber  contents  a  lazy  bubble  still  occasionally 
rose.  The  logs  that  had  snapped  in  the  fireplace  were 
gone,  only  gray  ashes  remained,  and  to  Rachael,  at 
least,  the  room's  desolation  and  disorder  seemed  to 
typify  her  own  state  of  mind. 

She  could  tell  from  Warren's  look  that  he  found  the 
whole  matter  painful  and  distasteful  to  an  almost 
unbearable  degree;  on  his  handsome  serious  face  was 
an  expression  of  grim  endurance,  of  hurt  yet  dignified 
protest  against  events.  He  did  not  blame  her,  how 
could  he  blame  her?  But  he  was  suffering  in  every 
fibre  of  his  sensitive  soul  at  this  sordid  notoriety,  at 


194  THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL 

this  blatant  voicing  of  a  hundred  ugly  whispers  in  a 
matter  so  closely  touching  the  woman  he  loved. 

"Dead?"  Rachael  said  quietly,  when  his  brief  con- 
versation was  over. 

Warren  Gregory,  setting  the  telephone  back  upon 
the  desk,  nodded  gravely. 

Rachael  made  no  comment.  For  a  moment  her 
eyes  widened  nervously,  and  a  little  shudder  rippled 
through  her.  Then  silently  she  gathered  up  the  leather 
belt  and  chains  of  beads  that  she  had  been  loosening 
as  she  listened,  and  slowly  went  toward  the  door. 

They  did  not  speak  again  of  Clarence  that  night, 
although  they  chatted  easily  for  the  next  hour  on  other 
topics,  even  laughirg  a  little  as  the  various  episodes  of 
the  evening  were  passed  in  review. 

But  Rachael  did  not  sleep,  nor  did  she  sleep  during 
the  long  hours  of  the  following  night.  On  the  third 
night  she  wakened  her  husband  suddenly  from  his 
sleep. 

"Greg — Greg!  Won't  you  talk  to  me  a  little?  I'm 
going  mad,  I  think!" 

"Rachael!  What  is  it?"  stammered  the  doctor, 
blinking  in  the  dim  light  of  Rachael's  bedside  lamp. 
His  wife,  haggard,  with  her  rich  hair  falling  in  two  long 
braids  over  her  shoulders,  was  sitting  on  the  side  of  his 
bed.  "What  is  it,  darling — hear  something?"  he 
asked,  more  naturally,  putting  his  arm  about  her. 

"I've  been  lying  awake — and  lying  awake!"  said 
Rachael,  panting.  "I  haven't  shut  my  eyes — it's  nearly 
three.  Greg,  I  keep  seeing  it — Clarence's  face,  you 
know,  with  that  horrible  scar!  What  shall  I  do?" 

Shivering,  gasping,  wild-eyed,  she  clung  to  him,  and 
for  a  long  hour  he  soothed  her  as  if  she  had  been  an 
hysterical  child.  He  put  her  into  a  comfortable  chair, 
mixed  her  a  sedative,  and  knelt  beside  her,  slowly 
winning  her  back  to  calm  and  sanity  again.  It  was 
terrible,  of  course,  but  no  one  but  Clarence  himself 
was  to  blame,  unless  it  was  poor  Billy 

"Yes,   I   must  see   Billy  when  she  comes  backl" 


THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL  195 

Rachaei  said  quickly,  when  the  tranquillizing  voice 
reached  this  point.  If  Warren  Gregory's  quiet  mouth 
registered  any  opposition,  she  did  not  see  it,  and  he 
did  not  express  it.  She  was  presently  sound  asleep, 
still  catching  a  long  childish  breath  as  she  slept.  But 
she  woke  smiling,  with  all  the  horrid  visions  of  the  past 
few  days  apparently  blotted  out,  and  she  and  Warren 
went  gayly  downtown  to  get  steamer  tickets,  and  buy 
appropriate  frocks  and  hats  for  the  spring  heat  of 
Bermuda. 

In  midsummer  came  the  inevitable  invitation  to 
visit  old  friends  at  Belvedere  Bay.  Rachael  was 

? leased  to  accept  Mrs.  Moran's  hospitality  for  a  glorious 
uly  week.  Warren,  to  her  delight,  took  an  eight- 
days'  holiday,  and  while  he  looked  to  his  racquet  and 
golf  irons  she  packed  her  prettiest  gowns.  Belvedere 
Bay  welcomed  them  rapturously,  and  beautiful  Mrs. 
Gregory  was  the  idol  of  the  hour.  Mrs.  Moulton, 
giving  a  tennis  tea  during  this  week,  duly  sent  Mrs. 
Gregory  a  card.  But  when  society  wondering  whether 
Rachael  would  really  be  a  guest  in  her  own  old  home, 
had  duly  gathered  at  the  Breckenridge  house,  young 
Dicky  Moran  was  so  considerate  as  to  be  flung  from 
his  riding-horse.  Neither  the  Gregorys  nor  the  Morans 
consequently  appeared  at  the  tea,  but  Rachael,  meet- 
ing all  inquirers  on  the  Moran  terrace,  late  in  the 
afternoon,  with  the  news  that  Dicky  was  quite  all  right, 
no  harm  done,  asked  prettily  for  details  of  the  affair 
they  had  missed. 

She  told  herself  that  the  past  really  made  no  differ* 
ence  in  the  radiant  present,  but  she  knew  it  was  not  so* 
In  a  thousand  little  ways  she  had  lost  caste>  and  she 
saw  it,  if  Warren  did  not.  A  certain  bloom  was  gone. 
Girls  were  not  quite  as  deferentially  adoring,  women 
were  a  little  less  impressed.  The  old  prestige  was 
somehow  lessened.  She  knew  that  newcomers  at  the 
club,  struck  by  her  beauty,  were  a  little  chilled  by  her 
nistory.  She  felt  the  difference  in  the:  very  air. 


196  THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL 

In  her  musings  she  went  over  the  old  arguments 
hotly.  Why  was  she  merely  the  "divorced  Mrs. 
Gregory?"  Why  were  these  casual  inquirers  not  told 
of  Clarence,  of  her  long  endurance  of  neglect  and  shame? 
More  than  once  the  thought  came  to  her,  that  if  other 
events  had  been  as  they  were,  and  only  the  facts  of 
her  divorce  and  remarriage  lacking,  she  would  have 
been  Clarence's  widow  now. 

"  What's  the  difference  ?  It  all  comes  out  the  same ! " 
commented  Warren,  to  whom  she  confided  this  thought. 

"Then  you  and  I  would  have  been  only  engaged 
now,"  said  Rachael,  smiling.  "And  I  would  like  that!" 

"You  mean  you  regret  your  marriage?"  he  laughed, 
his  arms  about  her. 

"I'd  like  to  live  the  first  days  over  and  over  and 
over  again,  Greg!"  she  answered  passionately. 

"You  are  an  insatiable  creature!"  he  said.  But  her 
earnestness  was  beginning  to  puzzle  him  a  little.  She 
was  too  deeply  wrapped  in  her  love  for  her  own  happi- 
ness or  his.  There  was  something  almost  startling  in 
her  intensity.  She  was  jealous  of  every  minute  that 
they  were  apart;  she  made  no  secret  of  her  blind  adora- 
tion. 

Warren  had  at  first  found  this  touching;  it  had 
humbled  him.  Later,  in  the  first  months  of  their 
marriage,  he  had  shared  it,  and  their  mutual  passion 
had  seemed  to  them  both  a  source  of  inexhaustible 
delight.  But  now,  even  while  he  smiled  at  her,  his 
keen  sensitiveness  where  her  dignity  was  concerned 
had  shown  him  that  there  was  in  her  attitude  some- 
thing a  little  pitiful,  something  even  a  little  absurd. 

Judy  and  Gertrude  and  little  Mrs.  Sartoris  listened 
interestedly  when  Rachael  talked  of  Greg,  of  his  likes, 
his  dislikes,  his  favorite  words,  his  old-maidish  way  of 
arranging  his  ties,  his  marvellous  latest  operation. 
But  Warren,  watching  his  wife's  flushed,  lovely  face, 
wondered  if  they  were  laughing  at  her.  He  smiled 
uncomfortably  when  she  interrupted  her  bridge  game 
to  come  across  the  club  porch  to  him,  to  ask  him  if  the 


THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL  197 

tennis  had  been  good,  to  warn  him  that  he  would  catch 
cold  if  he  did  not  instantly  get  out  of  those  wet  flannels, 
to  ask  Frank  Whittaker  what  he  meant  by  beating  her 
big  boy  three  sets  in  succession  ? 

"Rachael,  I'm  dealing  for  you — come  back  here!" 
Gertrude  might  call. 

"Deal  away!"  Rachael,  one  hand  on  Warren's  arm, 
would  look  saucily  at  the  others  over  his  shoulder. 
"I  like  my  beau,"  she  would  assert  brazenly,  "and  if 
you  say  a  word  more,  I'll  kiss  him  here  and  now!" 

They  all  shrieked  derisively  when  the  kiss  was  duly 
delivered  and  Gregory  Warren  with  a  self-conscious 
laugh  had  escaped  to  his  shower.  But  Rachael  saw 
nothing  absurd;  she  told  Warren  that  she  loved  him, 
and  let  them  laugh  if  they  liked! 

"Listen,  dearest!"  he  said  on  the  last  night  of  their 
stay.  "Will  you  be  a  darling,  and  not  trail  round  the 
links  if  we  play  to-morrow?" 

"Why  not?"  asked  Rachael  absently,  fluffing  his 
hair  from  her  point  of  vantage  on  the  arm  of  his  chair. 

"Well,  wouldn't  you  rather  stay  up  on  the  porch 
with  the  girls?" 

"If  you  men  want  to  swear  at  your  strokes,  I  de- 
cline to  be  a  party  to  it ! "  Rachael  said  maternally. 

"I  know.  But,  darling,  it  does  rather  aflFect  our 
game,"  Warren  said  uncertainly;  "that  is,  you  don't 
play,  you  see!  And  it  only  gets  you  hot  and  mussy, 
and  I  love  my  wife  to  be  waiting  when  we  come  up. 
It  isn't  that  I  don't  think  you're  a  darling  to  want  to 
do  it,"  he  added  in  hasty  concern. 

No  use.  She  was  deeply  hurt.  She  went  to  her  dressing- 
table  and  began  her  preparations  for  the  night  with  a 
downcast  face.  Certainly  she  wouldn't  bother  War- 
ren. She  only  did  it  because  she  loved  him  so.  A 
tear  splashed  down  on  her  white  hand. 

Next  day  she  triumphantly  accompanied  the  golfers. 
Warren  had  petted  and  coaxed  her  out  of  her  sulks, 
and  she  was  radiant  again.  When  they  had  said  their 
good-byes  to  Judy,  and  were  spinning  into  town  in  the 


198  THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL 

car  that  afternoon,  she  made  him  confess  that  she  had 
not  spoiled  the  game  at  all;  he  couldn't  make  her  be- 
lieve that  Frank  and  Tom  and  Peter  had  been  pretend- 
ing their  pleasure  at  having  her  go  along! 

But  later  in  the  summer  she  realized  that  Belvedere 
Bay  was  smiling  quietly  at  her  bridelike  infatuation, 
and  she  resented  it  deeply.  The  discovery  came  about 
on  a  lazy  summer  afternoon  when  several  women, 
Rachael  among  them,  were  enjoying  gossip  and  iced 
drinks  on  the  Parmalees'  porch.  Rachael  had  been 
talking  of  the  emeralds  that  Warren  was  having  reset 
for  her,  and  chanced  to  observe  that  Tiffany's  man  had 
said  that  Warren's  taste  in  jewelry  was  astonishing. 

"Rachael,"  yawned  little  Vivian  Sartoris,  "foi 
heaven's  sake  talk  about  something  else  than  Warren?'* 

"I  talk  about  him  because  I  like  him!"  Rachael 
said.  "  Better  than  anybody  else  in  the  world." 

"And  he  likes  you  better  than  anybody  else  in  the 
world,  I  suppose?"  Vivian  said  idly. 

"He  says  so,"  Rachael  answered  with  a  demure 
smile. 

"Then  that  settles  it!"  Vivian  laughed.  But  she 
and  several  of  her  intimates  fell  into  low  conversation, 
and  the  older  women  were  presently  interrupted  by 
Vivian's  voice  again.  "Rachael!"  she  challenged, 
"Katrina  says  that  she  knows  somebody  Warren  likes 
as  well  as  he  does  you!" 

"I  did  not!"  protested  Katrina,  scarlet-cheeked  and 
giggling,  giving  Vivian,  who  sat  next  her  on  the  wide 
tiled  steps,  a  violent  push. 

"Oh,  you  did,  too!"  one  of  the  group  exclaimed. 

Katrina  murmured  something  unintelligible. 

"Well,  that's  the  same  thing!"  Vivian  assured  her 
promptly.  "She  says  now  that  Warren  did  like  her 
as  well,  Rachael!" 

"Well,  don't  tell  me  who  it  is,  and  break  my  heart!" 
Rachael  warned  them.  But  her  old  sense  of  humor  so 
far  failed  her  that  she  could  not  help  adding  curiously, 
"If  Warren  ever  cared  for  anybody  else,  he'll  tell  me!" 


THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL  199 

There  was  a  general  burst  of  laughter,  and  Rachael 
colored. 

"No,  it's  nobody,"  Katrina  said  hastily.  "It's  only 
idiocy!"  She  and  the  other  girls  laughed  in  a  sup- 
pressed fashion  for  some  time.  Finally,  to  Rachael's 
secret  relief,  Gertrude  Whittaker  energetically  de- 
manded the  secret.  More  giggling  ensued.  Then 
Katrina  agreed  that  she  would  whisper  it  in  Mrs. 
Whittaker's  ear,  which  she  did.  Rachael  saw  Gertrude 
color  and  look  puzzled  for  a  second,  then  she  laughed 
scornfully. 

"What  geese  girls  are!  I  never  heard  anything  so 
silly!"  Gertrude  said.  Several  hours  later  she  told 
Rachael. 

She  did  not  tell  her  without  some  hesitation.  It  was 
so  silly — it  was  just  like  that  scatter-brained  Katrina, 
she  said.  Rachael,  proudly  asserting  that  nothing 
Katrina  said  would  make  any  difference  to  her,  never- 
theless urged  the  confidence. 

"Well,  it's  nothing,"  Gertrude  said  at  last.  "This 
is  what  Katrina  said:  she  said  that  Warren  Gregory 
had  liked  Rachael  Breckenridge  as  well  as  he  liked 
Rachael  Gregory!  That  was  all." 

Rachael  looked  puzzled  in  turn  for  a  minute. 
Then  she  smiled  proudly,  and  colored. 

"But  that's  not  true/'  she  said  presently.  "For 
I  have  never  seen  a  man  change  as  much  since  marriage 
as  Warren!  It's  still  a  perfect  miracle  to  him.  He 
says  himself  that  he  gets  happier  and  happier — 

"Oh,  Rachael,  you're  hopeless!"  Gertrude  laughed, 
and  Rachael  colored  again.  She  flushed  whenever  she 
thought  of  this  particular  visit. 

Far  happier  were  the  days  they  spent  with  the 
Valentines  at  Clark's  Bar.  Rachael  loved  them  all 
dearly,  from  little  Katharine  to  the  big  quiet  doctor; 
she  was  not  misunderstood  nor  laughed  at  here. 

They  swam,  tramped,  played  cards,  and  talked  tire- 
lessly. Rachael  slept  like  a  child  on  the  wide,  wind- 


200  THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL 

bathed  porch.  To  the  great  satisfaction  of  both  doctors 
she  and  Alice  grew  to  be  devoted  friends,  and  when  War- 
ren's holiday  was  over,  Rachael  stayed  on,  for  a  longer 
visit,  and  the  men  came  down  in  the  car  on  Fridays. 

On  her  birthday  this  year  her  husband  gave  Rachael 
Gregory,  and  her  heirs  and  assigns  forever,  a  roomy, 
plain  old  colonial  farmhouse  that  stood  near  Alice's 
house,  in  a  ring  of  great  elms,  looking  down  on  the 
green  level  surface  of  the  sea.  Rachael  accepted  it 
with  wild  delight.  She  loved  the  big,  homelike  halls, 
the  simple  fireplaces,  the  green  blinds  that  shut  a  sweet 
twilight  into  the  empty  rooms.  Her  own  barns,  her 
own  strip  of  beach,  her  own  side  yard  where  she  and 
Alice  could  sit  and  talk,  she  took  eager  possession  of 
them  all. 

She  went  into  town  for  chintzes,  papers,  wicker 
tables  and  chairs.  She  brought  old  Mrs.  Gregory 
down  for  the  housewarming,  and  had  all  the  Valentines 
to  dinner  on  the  August  evening  when  the  Gregorys 
moved  in.  And  late  that  same  evening,  when  War- 
ren's  arms  were  about  her,  she  told  him  her  great  news. 
There  were  to  be  little  feet  running  about  Home  Dunes, 
and  a  little  voice  echoing  through  the  new  home. 
"Shall  you  be  glad,  Greg?"  she  asked,  with  tears  in  her 
eyes;  "shall  you  be  just  a  little  jealous?" 

"Rachael!"  he  said  in  a  quick,  tense  whisper,  afraid 
to  believe  her.  And  Rachael,  caught  in  his  dear  arms, 
and  with  his  cheek  against  her  wet  lashes,  felt  a  triumph 
and  a  confidence  rise  within  her,  and  a  glorious  con- 
tent that  it  was  so. 

When  the  happy  suspicion  was  a  happy  certainty 
she  told  his  mother,  and  entered  at  once  into  the  world 
of  advice  and  reassurance,  planning  and  speculation 
that  belongs  to  women  alone.  Mrs.  Valentine  was 
also  full  of  eager  interest  and  counsel,  and  Rachael 
enjoyed  their  solicitude  and  affection  as  she  had  en- 
joyed few  things  in  life.  This  was  a  perfectly  natural 
symptom,  that  was  a  perfectly  natural  phase,  she  must 
do  this  thing,  get  that,  and  avoid  a  third. 


THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL  201 

The  fact  that  she  was  not  quite  herself  in  soul  or 
body,  that  she  must  be  careful,  must  be  guarded  and 
saved,  was  a  source  of  strange  and  mysterious  satis- 
faction to  her  as  the  quick  months  slipped  by.  Her 
increasing  helplessness  shut  her  quite  naturally  away 
into  a  world  that  contained  only  her  husband  and  her- 
self and  a  few  intimate  friends,  and  Rachael  found  this 
absolutely  satisfying,  and  did  not  miss  the  social  world 
that  hummed  on  as  busily  and  gayly  as  ever  without 
her. 

Her  baby  was  born  in  March,  a  beautiful  boy,  like 
his  father  even  in  the  first  few  moments  of  his  life. 
Rachael,  whose  experience  had  been,  to  her  astonish- 
ment, described  complacently  by  physician  and  nurses 
as  "perfectly  normal,"  was  slow  to  recover  from  the 
experience  in  body;  perhaps  never  quite  recovered  in 
soul.  It  changed  all  her  values  of  life — this  knowledge 
of  what  the  coming  of  a  child  costs;  she  told  Alice  that 
she  was  glad  of  the  change. 

"What  a  fool  I've  been  about  the  shadows,"  she 
said.  "This  is  the  reality!  This  counts,  as  it  seems 
to  me  that  nothing  else  I  ever  did  in  my  life  counts/' 

She  felt  nearer  than  ever  to  Warren  now,  and  more 
dependent  upon  him.  But  a  new  dignity  came  into 
her  relationship  with  him:  husband  and  wife,  father 
and  mother,  they  wore  the  great  titles  of  the  world, 
now! 

He  found  her  more  beautiful  than  ever,  and  as  the 
baby  was  the  centre  of  her  universe,  and  all  her  hopes 
and  fears  and  thoughts  for  the  child,  the  old  bridal 
attitude  toward  him  vanished  forever,  and  she  was  the 
more  fascinating  for  that.  His  love  for  her  rose  like  a 
great  flame,  and  the  passionate  devotion  for  which 
she  had  been  wistfully  waiting  for  months  enveloped 
her  now,  when,  shaken  in  body  and  soul,  she  wished 
only  to  devote  herself  to  the  miracle  that  was  her  child. 

When  he  was  but  six  weeks  old  James  Warren 
Gregory  Third  terrified  the  little  circle  of  his  family 
and  friends  with  a  severe  touch  of  summer  sickness. 


202  THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL 

The  weather,  in  late  April,  was  untimely — hot  and 
humid— and  the  baby  seemed  to  suffer  from  it,  even 
an  Ms  airy  nursery.  There  were  two  hideous  days  in 
which  he  would  take  no  food,  and  when  Rachael  heard 
/nothing  but  the  little  wailing  voice  through  the  long 
iiours.  All  night  she  sat  beside  him,  hearing  Warren's 
affectionate  protests  as  little  as  she  heard  the  dignified 
remonstrance  of  the  nurse.  When  day  came  she  was 
haggard  and  exhausted,  but  still  she  would  not  leave 
her  baby.  She  knelt  at  the  crib,  impressing  the  tiny 
countenance  upon  mind  and  heart — her  first-born  baby, 
upon  whose  little  features  the  wisdom  of  another  world 
still  lingered  like  a  light! 

Only  a  few  weeks  old,  and  thousands  of  them  older 
than  he  died  every  year!  Fear  in  another  form  had 
come  to  Rachael  now — life  seemed  all  fear. 

"Oh,  Warren,  is  he  very  ill?" 

"Pretty  sick,  dear  little  chap!" 

"But,  Warren,  you  don't  think " 

"My  darling,  I  don't  know!" 

She  turned  desperately  to  George  Valentine  when 
that  good  friend  came  in  his  professional  capacity  at 
five  o'clock. 

"George,  there's  been  a  change — Fna  sure  of  it. 
Look  at  him!" 

"  You  ought  to  take  better  care  of  your  wife,  Greg," 
was  Doctor  Valentine's  quiet  almost  smiling  answer 
to  this.  "You'll  have  her  sick  next!" 

"How  is  he?"  Rachael  whispered,  as  the  newcomer 
bent  over  the  baby.  There  was  a  silence. 

"Well,  my  dear,"  said  Doctor  Valentine,  as  he 
straightened  himself,  "I  believe  this  little  chap  has 
decided  to  remain  with  us  a  little  while.  Very — much 
—better!" 

Rachael  tried  to  smile,  but  burst  out  crying  instead, 
and  clung  to  her  husband's  shoulder. 

"Let  him  have  his  sleep  out,  Miss  Snow,"  said  the 
doctor,  "and  then  sponge  him  off  and  trv  him  with 
food!" 


THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL  203 

"Oh — yes — yes — yes!"  the  baby's  mother  said 
eagerly,  drying  her  eyes.  "And  you'll  be  back  later, 
George?" 

"Not  unless  you  telephone  me,  and  I  don't  think 
you'll  have  to,"  George  Valentine  said.  Rachael's 
face  grew  radiant  with  joy. 

"Oh,  George,  then  he  is  better!"  She  was  breath- 
ing like  a  runner. 

"Better!  I  think  he'll  be  himself  to-morrow.  Con- 
sole yourself,  my  dear  Rachael,  with  the  thought  that 
you'll  go  through  this  a  hundred  times  with  every  one 
of  your  children!" 

"Oh,  what  a  world!"  Rachael  said,  half  laughing 
and  half  sighing.  But  later  she  said  to  Warren,  "Yet 
*sn't  it  deliciously  worth  while ! " 

He  had  persuaded  her  to  have  some  supper,  and 
then  \hey  had  come  back  to  the  nursery,  to  see  if  the 
Laby  really  would  eat.  He  had  awakened,  and  had 
had  his  bath,  and  was  crying  again,  but,  as  Rachael 
eagerly  said,  it  was  a  healthy  cry.  Trembling  and 
smiling,  she  took  the  little  creature  in  her  arms,  and 
when  the  busy  little  lips  found  her  breast,  Rachael 
felt  as  if  she  could  hardly  bear  the  exquisite  incoming 
rush  of  joy  again. 

Warren,  watching  her,  smiled  in  deep  satisfaction, 
and  Miss  Snow  smiled,  too.  But  before  she  gave  her- 
self up  to  the  luxury  of  possession  the  mother's  tears 
fell  hot  on  the  baby's  delicate  gown  and  tiny  face, 
and  from  that  hour  Rachael  loved  her  son  with  the 
passionate  and  intense  devotion  she  felt  for  his  father. 

Years  later,  looking  at  the  pictures  they  took  of  him 
that  summer,  or  perhaps  stopped  by  the  sight  of  some 
white-coated  baby  in  the  street,  she  would  say  to  her- 
self, with  that  little  heartache  all  mothers  know,  "Ah, 
but  Jim  was  the  darling  baby!"  After  the  first  scare 
he  bloomed  like  a  rose,  a  splendid,  square,  royal  boy 
who  laughed  joyously  when  admitted  to  the  company 
of  his  family  and  friends,  and  lay  contentedly  dozing 
and  smiling  when  it  seemed  good  to  them  to  ignore 


204  THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL 

him.  Rachael  found  him  the  most  delightfully  amus* 
ing  and  absorbing  element  her  life  had  ever  known; 
she  would  break  into  ecstatic  laughter  at  his  simplest 
feat — when  he  yawned,  or  pressed  his  little  downy  head 
against  the  bars  of  his  crib  and  stared  unsmilingly  at 
her.  She  would  run  to  the  nursery  the  instant  she 
arrived  home,  her  eager,  "How's  my  boy?"  making 
the  baby  crow,  and  struggle  to  reach  her,  and  it  was 
an  event  to  her  to  meet  his  coach  in  the  park,  and  give 
him  her  purse  or  parasol  handle  with  which  to  play. 
Often  old  Mary,  the  nurse,  would  see  Mrs.  Gregory 
pick  up  a  pair  of  tiny  white  shoes  that  still  bore  the 
imprint  of  the  fat  little  feet,  and  touch  them  to  her 
lips,  or  catch  a  crumpled  little  linen  coat  from  the  drawer, 
and  bury  her  face  in  it  for  a  moment. 

Even  in  his  tiny  babyhood  he  was  companionable  to 
his  mother,  Rachael  even  consenting  to  the  plan  of 
taking  him  to  Home  Dunes  in  June,  although  by  this 
arrangement  she  saw  Warren  only  at  week-end  intervals 
until  the  doctor's  vacation  came  in  August.  When 
he  came  down,  and  the  big  car  honked  at  the  gate,  she 
invariably  had  the  baby  in  her  arms  when  she  came  to 
meet  him. 

"Hello,  Daddy.  Here  we  are!  How  are  you,  dear- 
est?" Rachael  would  say,  adding,  before  he  could 
answer  her:  "We  want  you  to  notice  our  chic  Italian 
socks,  Doctor  Gregory;  how's  that  for  five  months? 
Take  him,  Greg!  Go  to  Daddy,  Little  Mister!" 

'"All  very  well,  but  how's  my  wife  ?"  Warren  Gregory 
might  ask,  kissing  her  over  the  baby's  bobbing  head. 

"Lovely!     Do  you  know  that  your  son  weighs  fifteen 

Epunds — isn't  that  amazing?"  Rachael  would  hang  on 
is  free  arm,  in  happy  wifely  fashion,  as  they  went  back 
to  the  house. 

"Want  to  go  with  me  to  London?"  he  asked  her 
one  day  in  the  late  fall  when  they  were  back  in  town. 

"Why  not  Mars?"  she  asked  placidly,  putting  a 
fresh,  stiff  dress  over  Jimmy's  head. 


THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL  20$ 

"No,  but  I'm  serious,  my  dear  girl,"  Warren  Greg- 
ory said  surprised. 

"But — I  don't  understand  you.     What  about  Jim?" 

"Why,  leave  him  here  with  Mary.  We  won't  be 
gone  four  weeks." 

Rachael  smiled,  but  it  was  an  uneasy,  almost  an 
affronted,  smile. 

"Oh,  Warren,  we  couldn't!  I  couldn't!  I  would 
simply  worry  myself  sick!" 

"I  don't  see  why.  The  child  would  be  perfectly 
safe.  George  is  right  here  if  anything  happened ! " 

"George — but  George  isn't  his  mother!"  Rachael 
fell  silent,  biting  her  lip,  a  little  shadow  between  her 
brows.  "What  is  it — the  convention?"  she  presently 
asked.  "Do  you  have  to  go?" 

"It  isn't  absolutely  necessary,"  Warren  said  dryly. 
But  this  was  enough  for  Rachael,  who  opened  the  subject 
that  evening  when  George  and  Alice  Valentine  were  there. 

"George,  does  Warren  have  to  go  to  this  London  con- 
vention, or  whatever  it  is?" 

"Not  necessarily,"  smiled  Doctor  Valentine.  "Why, 
doesn't  he  want  to  go?" 

"7  don't  want  him  to  go!"  Rachael  asserted. 

"It  would  be  a  senseless  risk  to  take  that  baby  across 
the  ocean,"  Alice  contributed,  and  no  more  was  said  of 
the  possibility  then  or  at  any  other  time,  to  Rachael's 
great  content. 

But  when  the  winter  season  was  well  begun,  and 
Jimmy  delicious  in  his  diminutive  furs,  Doctor  Gregory 
and  his  wife  had  a  serious  talk,  late  on  a  snowy  after- 
noon, and  Rachael  realized  then  that  her  husband  had 
been  carrying  a  slight  sense  of  grievance  over  this 
matter  for  many  weeks. 

He  had  come  in  at  six  o'clock,  and  was  changing  his 
clothes  for  dinner,  half  an  hour  later,  when  Rachael 
came  into  his  dressing-room.  Her  hair  had  been 
dressed,  and  under  her  white  silk  wrapper  her  gold 
slippers  and  stockings  were  visible,  but  she  seemed  dis- 
inclined to  finish  her  toilette. 


206  THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL 

"Awful  bore!"  she  said,  smiling,  as  she  sat  down  to 
watch  him. 

"What— the  Hoyts?  Oh,  I  don't  think  so!"  he 
answered  in  surprise. 

"They  all  bore  me  to  death,"  Rachael  said  idly.  "  I'd 
rather  have  a  chop  here  with  you,  and  then  trot  off  some- 
where all  by  ourselves !  Why  don't  they  leave  us  alone  ? " 

"My  dear  girl,  that  isn't  life,"  Warren  Gregory  said 
firmly.  His  tone  chilled  her  a  little,  and  she  looked 
up  in  quick  penitence.  But  before  she  could  speak  he 
antagonized  her  by  adding  disapprovingly:  "I  must 
say  I  don't  like  your  attitude  of  criticism  and  ungra- 
ciousness, my  dear  girl!  These  people  are  all  our  good 
friends;  I  personally  can  find  no  fault  with  them. 
You  may  feel  that  you  would  rather  spend  all  of  your 
time  hanging  over  Jim's  crib — I  suppose  all  young 
mothers  do,  and  to  a  certain  extent  all  mothers  ought 
to — but  don't,  for  heaven's  sake,  let  everything  else 
slip  out  of  your  life!" 

"I  know,  I  know!"  Rachael  said  breathlessly  and 
quickly,  finding  his  disapproval  almost  unendurable. 
Warren  did  not  often  complain;  he  had  never  spoken 
to  her  in  this  way  before.  Her  face  was  scarlet,  and 
she  knew  that  she  wanted  to  cry.  "I  know,  dear," 
she  added  more  composedly;  "I  am  afraid  I  do  think 
too  much  about  Jim;  I  am  afraid" — and  Rachael 
smiled  a  little  pitifully — "that  I  would  never  want 
anyone  but  you  and  the  boy  if  I  had  my  own  way! 
Sometimes  I  wish  that  we  could  just  slip  away  from 
everybody  and  everything,  and  never  see  these  people 
again!" 

If  she  had  expected  him  to  endorse  this  radical  hope 
she  was  disappointed,  for  Warren  responded  briskly: 
"Yes,  and  we  would  bore  each  other  to  death  in  two 
months ! " 

Rachael  was  silent,  but  over  the  sinking  discourage- 
ment of  her  heart  she  was  gallantly  forming  new  res- 
olutions. She  would  think  more  of  her  clothes,  she 
make  a  special  study  of  dinners  and  theatre 


THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL  207 

parties,  she  would  be  seen  at  the  opera  at  least  every 
other  week. 

"I  gave  up  the  London  trip  just  because  you  weren't 
enthusiastic,"  Warren  was  saying,  with  the  unmistak- 
able readiness  of  one  whose  grievances  have  long  been 
classified  in  his  mind.  "It's  baby — baby — baby!  I 
don't  say  much 

"Indeed  you  don't!"  Rachael  conceded  gratefully. 

"But  I  think  you  overdo  it,  my  dear!"  finished  her 
husband  ?>kindly.  Clarence  Breckenridge's  wife  would 
have  assumed  a  different  attitude  during  this  little 
talk,  but  Rachael  Gregory  felt  every  word  like  a  blow 
upon  her  quivering  heart.  She  could  not  protest,  she 
could  not  ignore.  Her  love  for  him  made  this  moment 
one  of  absolute  agony,  and  it  was  with  the  humility  of 
great  love  that  she  met  him  more  than  halfway. 

"You're  right,  of  course,  Greg,  and  it  must  have  been 
stupid  for  you!"  Stupid!  It  seemed  even  in  this 
moment  treason,  it  seemed  desecration,  to  use  this 
Word  of  their  quiet,  wonderful  summer  together! 

"Well,"  he  said,  mollified,  "don't  take  what  I  say 
too  much  to  heart.  It's  only  that  I  love  my  wife,  and 
am  proud  of  her,  and  I  don't  want  to  cut  out  every- 
thing else  but  Jim's  shoes  and  Mary's  day  off!"  He 
came  over  and  kissed  her,  and  Rachael  clung  to  him. 

"Greg,  as  if  I  could  be  angry  with  you  for  being 
jealous  of  your  son!" 

"Trust  a  woman  to  put  that  construction  on  it," 
he  said,  laughing.  "You  like  to  think  I'm  jealous, 
don't  you?" 

"I  like  anything  that  makes  you  seem  my  devoted 
adorer,"  Rachael  answered  wistfully,  and  smiling  whim- 
sically she  added,  "and  I  am  going  to  get  some  new 
frocks,  and  give  a  series  of  dinners,  and  win  you  all 
over  again!" 

"Bully!"  approved  Doctor  Gregory,  cheerfully  going 
on  with  his  dressing.  Rachael  watched  him  thought- 
fully for  a  moment  before  she  went  on  to  her  own 
dressing-room. 


208  THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL 

Long  afterward  she  remembered  that  this  conversa- 
tion marked  a  certain  change  in  her  life;  it  was  never 
quite  glad,  confident  morning  again,  although  for 
many  months  no  definite  element  seemed  altered. 
Alice  and  old  Mrs.  Gregory  had  told  her,  and  all  the 
world  agreed,  that  the  coming  of  her  child  would  draw 
her  husband  and  herself  more  closely  together,  but,  as 
Rachael  expressed  it  to  herself,  it  was  if  she  alone 
moved — moved  infinitely  nearer  to  her  husband  truly, 
came  to  depend  upon  him,  to  need  him  as  she  had 
never  needed  him  in  her  life  before.  But  there  was 
always  the  feeling  that  Warren  had  not  moved.  He 
stood  where  he  had  always  been,  an  eager  sympathizer 
in  these  new  and  intense  experiences,  but  untouched 
and  unaltered  himself.  For  her  pain,  for  her  respon- 
sibility, for  her  physical  limitations,  he  had  the  most 
intense  tenderness  and  pity,  but  the  fact  remained 
that  he  might  sleep  through  the  nights,  enjoy  his  meals, 
and  play  with  his  baby,  when  the  mood  decreed,  mv 
troubled  by  personal  handicap. 

Rachael,  like  all  women,  thought  of  these  things 
seriously  during  the  first  year  of  her  child's  life,  and  in 
February,  when  Jimmy  was  beginning  to  utter  his 
first  delicious,  stammering  monosyllables,  it  was  with 
great  gravity  that  she  realized  that  motherhood  was 
approaching  her  again,  that  at  Thanksgiving  she  would 
have  a  second  child.  She  was  wretchedly  languid  and 
ill  during  the  entire  spring,  and  found  her  mother-in- 
law's  and  Alice  Valentine's  calm  acceptance  of  the 
situation  bewildering  and  discouraging. 

"My  dear,  I  don't  eat  a  meal  in  comfort,  the  entire 
time!"  Alice  said  cheerfully.  "I  mind  that  more  than 
any  other  phase!" 

"But  I  am  such  a  broken  reed!"  Rachael  smiled 
ruefully.  "I  have  no  energy!" 

The  older  woman  laughed. 

"I  know,  my  dear — haven't  I  been  through  it  all? 
i  Just  don't  worry,  and  spare  Greg  what  you  can " 

Rachael   could   do    neither.     She    wanted    Warren 


THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL  209 

every  minute,  and  she  wanted  nobody  else.  Her  fa- 
vorite hours  were  when  she  lay  on  the  couch,  near  the 
fire,  playing  with  his  free  hand,  while  he  read  to  her 
or  talked  to  her.  She  wanted  to  hear,  over  and  over 
again,  that  he  loved  no  one  else;  and  sometimes  she 
declined  invitations  without  even  consulting  him, 
"because  we're  happier  by  our  own  fire  than  anywhere 
else,  aren't  we,  dearest?"  "Don't  tell  me  about  your 
stupid  operations!"  she  would  smile  at  him,  "talk 
. about — us  I" 

She  went  over  and  over  the  details  of  her  old  life 
with  a  certain  morbid  satisfaction  in  his  constant  re- 
assurance. Her  marriage  had  not  been  the  cause  of 
Clarence's  suicide,  nor  of  Billy's  elopement;  she  had 
done  her  share  for  them  both,  more  than  her  share! 

Summer  came,  and  she  and  the  baby  were  comfort- 
ably established  at  Home  Dunes.  Warren  came  when 
he  could,  perhaps  twice  a  month,  and  usually  without 
warning.  If  he  promised  her  the  week-ends,  she  felt 
aggrieved  to  have  him  miss  one,  so  he  wired  her  every 
day,  and  sent  her  books  and  fruit,  letters  and  magazines 
every  week,  and  came  at  irregular  intervals.  Alice 
and  George  Valentine  and  their  children,  her  garden, 
her  baby,  and  the  ocean  she  loved  so  well  must  fill  this 
summer  for  Rachael. 


CHAPTER  in 

THE  beautiful  Mrs.  Gregory  made  her  first  appear- 
ance in  society,  after  the  birth  of  her  second  son,  oil  the 
occasion  of  Miss  Leila  Buckney's  marriage  to  Mr. 
Parker  Hoyt.  The  continual  postponement  of  this 
event  had  been  a  standing  joke  among  their  friends 
for  two  or  three  years;  it  took  place  in  early  December, 
at  the  most  fashionable  of  all  the  churches,  with  a 
reception  and  supper  to  follow  at  the  most  fashionable 
of  all  the  hotels.  Leila  naturally  looked  tired  and 
excited;  she  had  made  a  gallant  fight  for  her  lover,  for 
long  years,  and  she  had  won,  but  as  yet  the  returning 
tide  of  comfort  and  satisfaction  had  not  begun  in  her 
life.  Parker  had  been  a  trying  fiance;  he  was  a  cool- 
blooded,  fishlike  little  man;  there  had  been  other  com- 
plications: her  father's  heavy  financial  losses,  her 
mother's  discontent  in  the  lingering  engagement,  her 
sister's  persisting  state  of  unmarriedness. 

However,  the  old  aunt  was  at  last  dead.  Parker  had 
dutifully  gone  to  her  side  toward  the  end,  and  had  re- 
turned again,  duly,  bringing  the  casket,  and  escorting 
Miss  Clay.  And  now  Mamma  was  dressed,  and  Edith 
was  in  a  hideously  unbecoming  green  and  silver  gown, 
and  the  five  bridesmaids  were  duly  hatted  and  frocked 
in  green  and  silver,  and  she  was  dressed,  too,  realizing 
that  her  new  corsets  were  a  trifle  small,  and  her  lace 
veil  too  heavy. 

And  the  disgusting  caterer  had  come  to  some  last- 
moment  agreement  with  Papa  whereby  they  were  to 
have  the  supper  without  protest,  and  the  florist's  in- 
solent man  had  consented  to  send  the  bouquets  at  last. 
The  fifteen  hundred  dreadful  envelopes  were  all  ad- 
dressed, the  back-breaking  trying-on  of  gowns  was 

210 


THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL 

over,  the  three  hundred  and  seventy-one  gifts  were 
arranged  in  two  big  rooms  at  the  hotel,  duly  ticketed, 
and  the  three  hundred  and  seventy-one  dreadful  per- 
sonal notes  of  thanks  had  been  somehow  scribbled  off 
and  dispatched.  Leila  was  absolutely  exhausted, 
and  felt  as  pale  and  pasty  as  she  looked.  People  were 
all  so  stupid  and  tiresome  and  inconsiderate,  she  said 
wearily  to  herself,  and  the  awful  breakfast  would  be 
so  long  and  dull,  with  everybody  saying  the  same  thing 
to  her,  and  Parker  trying  to  be  funny  and  simply  mak- 
ing himself  ridiculous!  The  barbarity  of  the  modern 
wedding  impressed  itself  vaguely  upon  the  bride  as 
she  laughed  and  talked  in  a  strained  and  mechanical 
manner,  and  whatever  they  said  to  her  and  to  her 
parents,  the  guests  were  afterward  unanimous  in  de- 
ciding that  poor  Leila  had  been  an  absolute  fright. 

But  Mrs.  Gregory,  in  her  dark  blue  suit  and  her  new 
sables,  won  everybody's  eyes  as  she  came  down  the 
church  aisle  with  her  husband  beside  her.  Her  son 
was  not  quite  a  month  old,  and  if  she  had  not  recovered 
her  usual  wholesome  bloom,  there  was  a  refmed>  almost 
a  spiritual,  element  in  her  beauty  now  that  more  than 
made  up  for  the  loss.  She  wore  a  fragrant  great  bunch 
of  violets  at  her  breast,  and  under  the  sweeping  brim 
of  her  hat  her  beautiful  eyes  were  as  deeply  blue  as  the 
flowers.  She  seemed  full  of  a  new  wifely  and  matronly 
charm  to-day,  and  it  was  quite  in  key  with  the  pose 
that  old  Mrs.  Gregory  and  young  Charles  should  be 
constantly  in  her  neighborhood.  Her  relatives  with 
her,  her  babies  safe  at  home,  young  Mrs.  Gregory  was 
the  personification  of  domestic  dignity  and  decorum. 

At  the  hotel,  after  the  wedding,  she  was  the  centre 
of  an  admiring  group,  and  conscious  of  her  husband's 
approving  eyes,  full  of  her  old  brilliant  charm.  All 
the.  old  friends  rallied  about  her — they  had  not  seen 
much  of  her  since  her  marriage — and  found  her  more 
magnetic  than  ever.  The  circumstances  of  her  mar- 
riage were  blotted  out  by  more  recent  events  now: 
there  was  the  Chase  divorce  to  discuss;  the  Villalonga 


THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL 

motor-car  accident;  Elinor  Vanderwall  had  astonished 
everybody  a  few  weeks  before  by  her  sudden  marriage 
to  millions  in  the  person  of  old  Peter  Pomeroy;  now 
people  were  beginning  to  say  that  Jeanette  Vanderwall 
might  soon  be  expected  to  follow  suit  with  Peter's 
nephew  George.  The  big,  beautifully  decorated  re- 
ception-room hummed  with  gay  gossip,  with  the  tinkling 
laughter  of  women  and  the  deeper  tones  of  men. 

Caterers'  men  began  to  work  their  way  through  the 
crush,  bearing  indiscriminately  trays  of  bouillon,  sand- 
wiches, salads,  and  ices.  The  bride,  with  her  surround- 
ing bridesmaids,  was  still  standing  at  the  far  end  of 
the  room  mechanically  shaking  hands,  and  smilingly 
saying  something  dazed  and  inappropriate  to  her  friends 
as  they  filed  by;  but  now  various  groups,  scattered 
about  the  room,  began  to  interest  themselves  in  the 
food.  Elderly  persons,  after  looking  vaguely  about 
for  seats,  disposed  of  their  coffee  and  salad  while  stand- 
ing, and  soon  there  was  a  general  breaking-up;  the 
Buckney-Hoyt  wedding  was  almost  a  thing  of  the  past. 

Rachael,  thinking  of  the  impending  dinner-hour  of 
little  Gerald  Fairfax  Gregory,  began  to  watch  the  swirl- 
ing groups  for  Warren.  They  could  slip  away  now, 
surely;  several  persons  had  already  gone.  Her  heart 
was  in  her  nursery,  where  Jim  was  toddling  back  and 
forth  tirelessly  in  the  firelight,  and  where,  between  the 
white  bars  of  the  new  crib,  was  the  tiny  roll  of  snowy 
blankets  that  enclosed  the  new  baby. 

"That's  a  pretty  girl,"  she  found  herself  saying  in- 
voluntarily as  her  absent  eyes  were  suddenly  arrested 
by  the  face  and  figure  of  one  of  the  guests.  "I  wonder 
who  that  is?" 

The  brown  eyes  she  was  watching  met  hers  at  the 
same  second,  and  smiling  a  little  question,  their  owner 
came  toward  her. 

"Hello,  Rachael,"  the  girl  said.  "How  are  you 
after  all  these  years  ? " 

"Magsie  Clay!"  Rachael  exclaimed,  the  look  of  un- 
certainty on  her  face  changing  to  one  of  pleasure  and 


THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL  213 

welcome.  "Well,  you  dear  child,  you!  How  are  you? 
I  knew  you  were  here,  and  yet  I  couldn't  place  you. 
You've  changed — you're  thinner." 

"Oh,  much  thinner,  but  then  I  was  an  absolute 
butterball!"  Miss  Clay  saido  "Tell  me  about  yourself. 
I  hear  that  you're  having  a  baby  every  ten  minutes!" 

*"Not  quite!"  Rachael  said,  laughing,  but  a  little 
discomposed  by  the  girl's  coolness.  "But  I  have  two 
mighty  nice  boys,  as  I'll  prove  to  you  if  you'll  come  see 
me!" 

"Don't  expect  me  to  rave  over  babies,  because  I 
don't  know  anything  about  them,"  said  Magsie  Clay, 
with  a  slow,  drawling  manner  that  was,  Rachael  de- 
cided, effective.  "Do  they  like  toys?" 

"Jimmy  does,  the  baby  is  rather  young  for  tastes 
of  any  description,"  Rachael  answered  with  an  odd, 
new  sense  of  being  somehow  sedate  and  old-fashioned 
beside  this  composed  young  woman.  Miss  Clay  was 
not  listening.  Her  brown  eyes  were  moving  idly  over 
the  room,  and  now  she  suddenly  bowed  and  smiled. 

"There's  Greg!"  she  said.  "What  a  comfort  it  is 
to  see  a  man  dress  as  that  man  dresses!" 

"I've  been  looking  for  you,"  Warren  Gregory  said, 
coming  up  to  his  wife,  and,  noticing  the  other  woman, 
he  added  enthusiastically:  "Well,  Margaret!  I  didn't 
know  you!  Bless  my  life  and  heart,  how  you  children 
grow  up ! " 

"Children!  I'm  twenty-two!"  Miss  Clay  said, 
pouting,  with  her  round  brown  eyes  fixed  in  childish 
reproach  upon  his  face.  They  had  been  great  friends 
when  Warren  was  with  his  mother  in  Paris,  nearly 
four  years  ago,  and  now  they  fell  into  an  animated 
recollection  of  some  of  their  experiences  there  with  the 
two  old  ladies.  While  they  talked  Rachael  watched 
Magsie  Clay  with  admiration  and  surprise. 

She  knew  all  the  girl's  history,  as  indeed  everybody 
in  the  room  knew  it,  but  to-day  it  was  a  little  hard  to 
identify  the  poised  and  beautiful  young  woman  who 
was  looking  so  demurely  up  from  under  her  dark  lashes 


214  THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL 

at  Warren  with  the  "little  Clay  girl"  of  a  few  years 
ago. 

Parker  Hoyt's  aunt,  the  magnificent  old  Lady  Froth- 
ingham,  had  been  just  enough  of  an  invalid  for  the 
twenty  years  preceding  her  death  to  need  a  nurse  or 
a  companion,  or  a  social  secretary,  or  someone  who 
was  a  little  of  all  three.  The  great  problem  was  to 
find  the  right  person,  and  for  a  period  that  actually 
extended  itself  over  years  the  right  person  was  not  to 
be  found,  and  the  old  lady  was  consequently  miserable 
and  unmanageable. 

Then  came  the  advent  of  Mrs.  Clay,  a  dark,  silent, 
dignified  widow,  who  more  than  met  all  requirements, 
and  who  became  a  companion  figure  to  the  little,  fuss- 
ing, over-dressed  old  lady.  From  the  day  she  first 
arrived  at  the  Frothingham  mansion  Mrs.  Clay  never 
failed  her  old  employer  for  so  much  as  a  single  hour. 
For  fifteen  years  she  managed  the  house,  the  maids, 
and,  if  the  truth  were  known,  the  old  lady  herself, 
with  a  quiet,  irresistible  efficiency.  But  it  was  early 
remarked  that  she  did  not  manage  her  small  daughter 
with  her  usual  success.  Magsie  was  a  fascinating  baby, 
and  a  beautiful  child,  quicker  of*  speech  than  thought, 
with  a  lovely  little  heart-shaped  face  framed  in  flying 
locks  of  tawny  hair.  But  she  was  unmanageable  and 
strong-willed,  and  possessed  of  a  winning  and  insolent 
charm  hard  to  refuse. 

Her  mother  in  her  silent,  repressed  way  realized  that 
Magsie  was  not  having  the  proper  upbringing,  but  her 
own  youth  had  been  hard  and  dark,  and  it  was  perhaps 
the  closest  approach  to  joy  that  she  ever  knew  when 
Magsie  glowing  under  her  wide  summer  hats,  or  radiant 
in  new  furs,  rushed  up  to  demand  something  preposter- 
ous and  extravagant  of  her  mother,  and  was  not  denied. 

She  was  a  stout,  conceited  sixteen-year-old  when  her 
mother  died,  so  spoiled  and  so  self-centred  that  old 
Lady  Frothingham  had  been  heard  more  than  once  to 
mutter  that  the  young  lady  could  get  down  from  her 
high  horse  and  mak^  herself  useful,  or  she  could  march. 


THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL  215 

But  that  was  six  years  ago.  And  now — this!  Magsie 
had  evidently  decided  to  make  herself  useful,  but  she 
had  managed  to  make  herself  beautiful  and  fascinating 
as  well.  She  was  in  mourning  now  for  the  good-hearted 
old  benefactress  who  had  left  her  a  nest-egg  of  some 
fifteen  thousand  dollars,  and  Rachael  noticed  with 
approval  that  it  was  correct  mourning:  simple,  severe, 
Parisian.  Nothing  could  have  been  more  becoming 
to  the  exquisite  bloom  of  the  young  face  than  the 
soft,  clear  folds  of  filmy  veiling;  under  the  small, 
close-set  hat  there  showed  a  ripple  of  rich  golden  hair. 
The  watching  woman  thought  that  she  had  never 
seen  such  self-possession;  at  twenty-two  it  was  almost 
uncanny.  The  modulated,  bored  young  voice,  the 
lazily  lifted,  indifferent  young  eyes,  the  general  air  of 
requesting  an  appreciative  world  to  be  amusing  and 
interesting,  or  to  expect  nothing  of  Miss  Magsie  Clay 
these  things  caused  Rachael  a  deep,  hidden  chuckle  of 
amusement.  Little  Magsie  had  turned  out  to  be  some- 
thing of  a  personality!  Why,  she  was  even  employing 
a  distinct  and  youthfully  insolent  air  of  keeping  Warren 
by  her  side  merely  on  sufferance — Warren,  the  cleverest 
and  finest  man  in  the  room,  who  was  more  than  twice 
her  age! 

"To  think  that  she  is  younger  than  Charlotte!" 
Rachael  ejaculated  to  herself,  catching  a  glimpse  of 
Charlotte,  towed  by  her  mother,  uncomfortable,  ig- 
nored, blinking  through  her  glasses.  And  when  she 
and  Warren  were  in  the  car  homeward  bound,  she 
spoke  admiringly  of  Magsie.  "Did  you  ever  see  any 
one  so  improved,  Warren  ?  Really,  she's  quite  extraor- 
dinary!" 

Warren  smiled  absently. 

"She's  a  terribly  spoiled  little  thing,"  he  remarked. 
"She's  out  for  a  rich  man,  and  she'll  get  him!" 

UI  suppose  so,"  Rachael  agreed,  casting  about  among 
the  men  she  knew  for  an  appropriate  partner  for  Miss 
Clay. 

"Suppose  so!"  he  echoed  in   good-humored   scorn. 


216  THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL 

"Don't  you  fool  yourself,  she'll  get  what  she's  after! 
There  isn't  a  man  alive  that  wouldn't  fall  for  that 
particular  type!" 

"Warren,  do  you  suppose  so?"  his  wife  asked  in 
surprise. 

"Well,  watch  and  see!" 

"  Perhaps — —"  Rachael's  interest  wandered.  "What 
time  have  you?"  she  asked. 

He  glanced  at  his  watch.     "Six-ten." 

"  Six-ten  !  Oh,  my  poor  abused  baby — and  I  should 
have  been  here  at  quarter  before  six!"  She  was  all 
mother  as  she  ran  upstairs.  Had  he  been  crying?  Oh, 
he  had  been  crying!  Poor  little  old  duck  of  a  hungry 
boy,  did  he  have  a  bad,  wicked  mother  that  never  re- 
membered him!  He  was  in  her  arms  in  an  instant, 
and  the  laughing  maid  carried  away  her  hat  and  wrap 
without  disturbing  his  meal.  Rachael  leaned  back  in 
the  big  chair,  panting  comfortably,  as  much  relieved 
over  his  relief  as  he  was.  The  wedding  was  forgotten. 
She  was  at  home  again;  she  could  presently  put  this 
baby  down  and  have  a  little  interval  of  hugging  and 
'tories  with  Jimmy. 

"You'll  get  your  lovely  dress  all  mussed,"  said  old 
Mary  in  high  approval. 

" Never  mind,  Mary!"  her  mistress  said  in  luxurious 
ease  before  the  fire,  "there  are  plenty  of  dresses!" 

A  week  later  Warren  came  in,  in  the  late  afternoon, 
to  say  that  he  had  met  Miss  Clay  downtown,  and  they 
had  had  tea  together.  She  suggested  tea,  and  he 
couldn't  well  get  out  of  it.  He  would  have  telephoned 
Rachael  had  he  fancied  she  would  care  to  come.  She 
had  been  put?  That  was  what  he  thought.  But  how 
about  a  little  dinner  for  Magsie?  Did  she  think  it 
would  be  awfully  stupid? 

"No,  she's  not  stupid,"  Rachael  said  cordially. 
"Let's  do  it!" 

"Oh,  I  don't  mean  stupid  for  us,"  Warren  hastened 
to  explain.  "I  mean  stupid  for  her!" 


THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL  217 

"Why  should  it  be  stupid  for  her?"  Rachael  looked 
at  him  in  surprise. 

"Well,  she's  awfully  young,  and  she's  getting  a  lot 
of  attention,  and  perhaps  she'd  think  it  a  bore!" 

"I  don't  imagine  Magsie  Clay  would  find  a  dinner  here 
in  her  honor  a  bore,"  Rachael  said  in  delicate  scorn. 
"Why,  think  who  she  is,  Warren — a  nurse's  daughter! 
Her  father  was — I  don't  know  what — an  enlisted  man, 
who  rose  to  be  a  sergeant!" 

,"I  don't  believe  itf"  he  said  flatly. 

"It's  true,  Warren.  I've  known  that  for  years — 
everybody  knows  it!" 

"Well,"  Warren  Gregory  said  stubbornly,  "she's 
making  a  great  hit  just  the  same.  She's  going  up  to 
the  Royces'  next  week  for  the  Bowditch  theatricals, 
and  she's  asked  to  the  Pinckard  dinner  dance.  She 
may  not  go  on  account  of  her  mourning." 

"Her  mourning  is  rather  absurd  under  the  circum- 
stances," Rachael  said  vaguely,  antagonized  against 
anyone  he  chose  to  defend.  "And  if  people  choose  to 
treat  her  as  if  she  were  Mrs.  Frothingham's  daughter 
instead  of  what  she  really  is,  it's  nice  for  Magsie!  But 
I  don't  see  why  we  should." 

"We  might  because  she  is  such  a  nice,  simple  girl," 
Warren  suggested,  "and  because  we  like  her!  I'm 
not  trying  to  keep  in  the  current;  I've  no  social  axe 
to  grind;  I  merely  suggested  it,  and  if  you  don't 
want  to " 

"Oh,  of  course,  if  you  put  it  that  way!"  Rachael 
said  with  a  faint  shrug. >  "I'll  get  hold  of  some  eligi- 
bles — we'll  have  Charlie,  and  have  rather  a  youthful 
dinner!" 

Warren,  who  was  shaving,  was  silent  for  a  few  minutes, 
then  he  said  thoughtfully: 

"I  don't  imagine  that  Charlie  is  the  sort  of  person 
who  will  interest  her.  She  may  be  only  twenty-two, 
but  she  is  older  than  most  girls  in  things  like  that. 
She's  had  more  offers  now  than  you  could  shake  a 
stick  at " 


218  THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL 

"She  told  you  about  them?" 

"Well,  in  a  general  way,  yes — that  is,  she  doesn't 
want  to  marry,  and  she  hates  the  usual  attitude,  that 
a  lot  of  college  kids  have  to  be  trotted  out  for  her 
benefit!" 

This  having  been  her  own  exact  attitude  a  few 
seconds  before,  Rachael  flushed  a  little  resentfully, 

"What  does  she  want  to  do?" 

Warren  shaved  on  for  a  moment  in  silence,  theft, 
with  a  rather  important  air  he  said  impulsively: 

"Well,  Pll  tell  you,  although  she  told  me  in  con- 
fidence, and  of  course  nothing  may  come  of  it.  You 
won't  say  anything  about  it,  of  course?  She  wants  to 
go  on  the  stage." 

"Really!"  said  Rachael,  who,  for  some  reason  she 
could  not  at  this  moment  define,  was  finding  the  con- 
versation extraordinarily  distasteful. 

"Yes,  she's  had  it  in  mind  for  years,"  Warren  pur- 
sued with  simplicity.  "And  she's  had  some  good 
offers,  too.  You  can  see  that  she's  the  kind  of  girl 
that  would  make  an  immediate  hit,  that  would  get 
across  the  footlights,  as  it  were.  Of  course,  it  all  de- 
pends upon  how  hard  she's  willing  to  work,  but  I  be- 
lieve she's  got  a  big  future  before  her!" 

There  was  a  short  silence  while  he  finished  the 
operation  of  shaving,  and  Rachael,  who  was  busy  with 
the  defective  clasp  of  a  string  of  pearls,  bent  absorbedly 
over  the  microscopic  ring  and  swivel. 

"Let's  think  about  the  dinner,"  she  said  presently. 
She  found  that  he  had  already  planned  almost  all  the 
details. 

When  it  took  place,  about  ten  days  later,  she  res- 
olutely steeled  herself  for  an  experience  that  promised 
to  hold  no  special  enjoyment  for  her.  Her  love  for  her 
husband  made  her  find  in  his  enthusiasm  for  Magsie 
something  a  little  pitiful  and  absurd.  Magsie  was  only 
a  girl,  a  rather  shallow  and  stupid  girl  at  that,  yet 
Warren  was  as  excited  over  the  arrangements  for  the 
dinner  as  if  she  had  been  the  most  important  of  person- 


THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL 

ages.  If  it  had  been  some  other  dinner — the  affair 
for  the  English  ambassador,  or  the  great  London  novel- 
ist, or  the  fascinating  Frenchman  who  had  painted 
Jimmy — she  told  herself,  it  would  have  been  compre- 
hensible! But  Warren,  like  all  great  men,  had  his 
simple,  almost  childish,  phases,  and  this  was  one  of 
them! 

She  watched  her  guest  of  honor,  when  the  evening 
came,  with  a  puzzled  intensity.  Magsie  was  in  her 
glory,  sparkling,  chattering,  almost  noisy.  Her  ex- 
quisite little  white  silk  gown  was  so  low  in  the  waist, 
and  so  short  in  the  skirt,  that  it  was  almost  no  gown  at 
all,  yet  it  was  amazingly  smart.  She  had  touched  her 
lips  with  red,  and  her  eyelids  were  cunningly  given  just 
a  hint  of  elongation  with  a  black  pencil.  Her  bright 
hair  was  pushed  severely  from  her  face,  and  so  trimly 
massed  and  netted  as  not  to  show  its  beautiful  quantity, 
and  yet,  somehow,  one  knew  the  quantity  was  there  in 
all  its  gold  glory. 

Rachael,  magnificent  in  black-and-white,  was  ashamed 
of  herself  for  the  instinctive  antagonism  that  she 
began  to  feel  toward  this  young  creature.  It  was 
not  the  fact  of  Magsie's  undeniable  youth  and  beauty 
that  she  resented,  but  it  was  her  affectations,  her 
full,  pouting  lips,  her  dimples,  her  reproachful  up- 
ward glances.  Even  these,  perhaps,  in  themselves, 
she  did  not  resent,  she  mused;  it  was  their  instant  effect 
upon  Warren  and,  to  a  greater  or  lesser  degree,  upon 
all  the  other  men  present,  that  filled  her  with  a  sort 
of  patient  scorn.  Rachael  wondered  what  Warren's 
feeling  would  have  been  had  his  wife  suddenly  picked 
out  some  callow  youth  still  in  college  for  her  admiring 
laughter  and  earnest  consideration. 

It  was  sacrilege  to  think  it.  It  was  always  absurd, 
an  older  man's  kindly  interest  in,  and  affection  for,  a 
pretty  young  girl,  but  what  harm?  He  thought  her 
beautiful,  and  charming,  and  talented — well,  she  was 
those  things.  It  was  January  now,  in  March  they 
were  going  to  California,  then  would  come  dear  Home 


THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL 

Dunes,  and  before  the  summer  was  over  Magsie  would 
be  safely  launched,  or  married,  and  the  whole  thing  but 
an  episode !  Warren  was  her  husband  and  the  father  of 
her  two  splendid  boys;  there  was  tremendous  reassur- 
ance in  the  thought. 

But  that  evening,  and  throughout  the  weeks  that 
followed,  Rachael  mused  somewhat  sadly  upon  the 
extraordinary  susceptibility  of  the  human  male.  Mag- 
sie's  methods  were  those  of  a  high-school  belle.  She 

Eouted,  she  dimpled,  she  dispensed  babyish  slaps,  she 
ipsed  into  rather  poorly  imitated  baby  talk.  She 
was  sometimes  mysterious  and  tragic,  according  to  her 
own  lights,  her  voice  deep,  her  eyes  sombre;  at  other 
times  she  was  all  girl,  wild  for  dancing  and  gossip  and 
matinees.  She  would  widen  her  eyes  demurely  at 
some  older  woman,  plaintively  demanding  a  chaperon, 
all  these  bad  men  were  worrying  her  to  death;  she  had 
nicknames  for  all  the  men,  and  liked  to  ask  their  wives 
if  there  was  any  harm  in  that?  Like  Billy,  and  like 
Charlotte,  she  never  spoke  of  anyone  but  herself,  but 
Billy  was  a  mere  beginner  beside  Magsie,  and  poor 
Charlotte  like  a  denizen  of  another  world. 

Magsie  always  scored.  There  was  an  air  of  refine- 
ment and  propriety  about  the  little  gypsy  that  saved 
her  most  daring  venture,  and  in  a  society  bored  to 
death  with  its  own  sameness  she  became  an  instant 
favorite.  Everyone  said  that  "there  was  no  harm  in 
Magsie,"  she  was  the  eagerly  heralded  and  loudly 
welcomed  cap-and-bells  wherever  she  went. 

Early  in  March  there  was  an  entertainment  given 
in  one  of  the  big  hotels  for  some  charity,  and  Miss 
Clay,  who  appeared  in  a  dainty  little  French  comedy, 
the  last  number  on  the  program,  captured  all  the 
honors.  Her  companion  player,  Dr.  Warren  Gregory, 
who  in  the  play  had  taken  the  part  of  her  guardian, 
and,  with  his  temples  touched  with  gray,  his  peruke, 
and  his  satin  coat  and  breeches,  had  been  a  handsome 
foil  for  her  beauty,  was  declared  excellent,  but  the 
captivating,  piquant,  enchanting  Magsie  was  the  fa- 


THE  HEART  OF  RACIJAEL 

vorite  of  the  hour.  Before  the  hot,  exciting,  memo- 
rable evening  was  over  the  rumor  flew  about  that  she 
had  signed  a  contract  to  appear  with  Bowman,  the 
great  manager,  in  the  fall. 

The  whole  experience  was  difficult  for  Rachael,  but 
no  one  suspected  it,  and  she  would  have  given  her  life 
cheerfully  to  keep  her  world  from  suspecting.  Long 
before  the  rehearsals  for  the  little  play  were  over  she 
knew  the  name  of  that  new  passion  that  was  tearing 
and  gnawing  at  her  heart.  No  use  to  tell  herself  that 
if  Magsie  was  deeply  admired  by  Warren,  if  Magsie 
was  beautiful,  if  Magsie  was  constantly  in  his  thoughts, 
why,  she,  Rachael,  was  still  his  wife;  his  home,  his 
sons,  his  name  were  hers!  She  was  jealous — jealous — - 
jealous  of  Magsie  Clay. 

She  could  not  bear  even  the  smothering  thought  of  a 
divided  kingdom.  Professionally,  socially,  the  world 
might  claim  him;  but  no  one  but  herself  should  ever 
claim  even  one  one-hundredth  of  that  innermost  heart 
of  his  that  had  been  all  her  own!  The  thought  pierced 
her  vitally,  and  she  felt  in  sick  discouragement  that 
she  could  not  fight,  she  could  not  meet  his  cruelty  with 
new  cruelty.  Her  very  beauty  grew  dimmed,  and  the 
old  flashing  wit  and  radiant  self-confidence  were  clouded 
for  a  time.  When  she  was  alone  with  her  husband  she 
felt  constrained  and  serious,  her  heart  a  smouldering 
furnace  of  resentment  and  pain. 

"What  do  you  think  of  this,  dearie?"  he  asked 
eagerly  one  afternoon.  "We  got  talking  about  Cali- 
fornia at  the  Princes'  last  night,  and  it  seems  that 
Peter  and  Elinor  plan  to  go;  only  not  before  the  first 
week  in  April.  Now,  that  would  suit  me  as  well  as 
next  week,  if  it  wouldn't  put  you  out.  Could  you 
manage  it?  The  Pomeroys  take  their  car,  and  an 
awfully  nice  crowd;  just  you  and  I — if  we'll  go — Peter 
and  Elinor,  and  perhaps  the  Oliphants,  and  a  beau  for 
Magsie!" 

Rachael  had  been  waiting  for  Magsie's  name.  But 
there  seemed  to  be  nothing  to  say.  She  rose  to  the 


THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL 

situation  gallantly.  She  put  the  boys  in  the  care  of 
their  grandmother  and  the  faithful  Mary,  with  Doctor 
Valentine's  telephone  number  pasted  prominently  on 
the  nursery  wall.  She  bought  herself  charming  gowns 
and  hats,  she  made  herself  the  most  delightful  travel- 
ling companion  that  ever  seven  hot  and  spoiled  men 
and  women  were  fortunate  enough  to  find.  When 
everyone,  even  Magsie,  was  bored  and  cross,  upset 
by  close  air,  by  late  hours,  by  unlimited  candy  and 
cocktails,  Mrs.  Gregory  would  appear  from  her  state- 
room, dainty,  interested,  ready  for  bridge  or  gossip, 
full  of  enthusiasm  for  the  scenery  and  for  the  company 
in  which  she  found  herself.  When  she  and  Warren 
were  alone  she  often  tried  to  fancy  herself  merely  an 
acquaintance  again,  with  an  acquaintance's  anxiety  to 
meet  his  mood  and  interest  him.  She  made  no  claims, 
jhe  resented  nothing,  and  she  schooled  herself  to  praise 
Magsie,  to  quote  her,  and  to  discuss  her. 

The  result  was  all  that  she  could  have  hoped.  After 
the  five  weeks'  trip  Warren  was  heard  to  make  the 
astonishing  comment  that  Magsie  was  a  shallow  little 
thing,  and  Rachael,  hungrily  kissing  her  boys'  sweet, 
bewildered  faces,  and  laughing  and  crying  together  as 
Mary  gave  her  an  account  of  every  hour  of  her  absence, 
felt  more  than  rewarded  for  the  somewhat  sordid  scheme 
and  the  humiliating  effort.  Little  Gerald  was  in  short 
clothes  now,  a  rose  of  a  baby,  and  Jimmy  at  the  ir- 
resistible age  when  every  stammered  word  and  every 
changing  expression  had  new  charm. 


CHAPTER  IV 

TEN  days  later,  in  the  midst  of  her  preparations  to 
leave  the  city  for  Clark's  Hills,  Rachael  was  summoned 
to  the  telephone  by  the  news  of  a  serious  change  in 
young  Charlie  Gregory's  condition.  Charlie  had  been 
ill  for  perhaps  a  week;  kept  at  home  and  babied  by  his 
grandmother  and  Miss  Cannon,  the  nurse,  visited  daily 
by  his  adored  Aunt  Rachael,  and  nearly  as  often  by  the 
uproarious  young  Gregorys,  and  duly  spoiled  by  every 
maid  in  the  house.  Warren  went  in  to  see  him  often 
in  the  evenings,  for  trivial  as  his  illness  was,  all  the 
members  of  his  immediate  family  agreed  later  that 
there  had  been  in  it,  from  the  beginning,  something 
vaguely  alarming  and  menacing. 

He  was  a  quiet,  peculiar,  rather  friendless  youth  at 
twenty-six;  he  had  never  had  "girls,"  like  the  other 
boys,  and,  while  he  read  books  incessantly,  Rachael 
knew  it  to  be  rather  from  loneliness  than  any  other 
motive,  as  his  silence  was  from  shyness  rather  than  re- 
serve. His  dying  was  as  quiet  as  his  living,  between  a 
silent  luncheon  in  the  gloomy  old  dining-room  when 
nobody  seemed  able  either  to  eat  or  speak,  and  a 
dreadful  dinner  hour  when  Miss  Cannon  sobbed  un- 
obtrusively, Warren  and  Rachael  talked  in  low  tones, 
and  the  chairs  at  the  head  and  foot  of  the  table  were 
untenanted. 

Only  a  day  or  two  later  his  grandmother  followed 
him,  and  Rachael  and  her  husband  went  through  the 
sombre  days  like  two  persons  in  an  oppressive  dream. 
Great  grief  they  did  not  naturally  feel,  for  Warren's 
curious  self-absorption  extended  even  to  his  relation- 
ship with  his  mother,  and  Charlie  had  always  been  one 
of  the  unnecessary,  unimportant  figures  of  which  there 

223 


THE  HEAET  OF  RACHAEL 

are  a  few  in  every  family.  But  the  events  left  a  lasting 
mark  upon  Rachaers  life.  She  had  grown  really  to 
love  the  old  woman,  and  had  felt  a  certain  pitying  af- 
fection for  Charlie,  too.  He  had  been  a  good,  gentle, 
considerate  boy  always,  and  it  was  hard  to  think  of 
him  as  going  before  life  had  really  begun  for  him. 

On  the  morning  of  the  day  he  died  an  incident  had 
occurred,  or  rather  two  had  occurred,  that  even  then 
filled  her  with  vague  discomfort,  and  that  she  was  to 
remember  for  many  days  to  come. 

She  had  been  crossing  the  great,  dark  entrance  hall, 
late  in  the  morning,  on  some  errand  to  the  telephone, 
or  to  the  service  department  of  the  house,  her  heart 
burdened  by  the  sombre  shadow  of  death  that  already 
lay  upon  them  all,  when  the  muffled  street-door  bell 
had  rung,  and  the  butler,  red  eyed,  had  admitted  two 
women.  Rachael,  caught  and  reluctantly  glancing 
toward  them,  had  been  surprised  to  recognize  Charlotte 
Haviland  and  old  Fanny. 

"Charlotte!"  she  said,  coming  toward  the  girl. 
And  at  her  low,  tense  tone,  Charlotte  had  begun  to  cry. 

"Aunt  Rachael" — the  old  name  came  naturally 
after  seven  years — "you'll  think  I'm  quite  crazy  coming 
here  this  way" — Charlotte,  as  always,  was  justifying 
her  shy  little  efforts  at  living — "but  M'ma  was  busy, 
and" — the  old,  nervous  gasp — "and  it  seemed  only 
friendly  to  come  and — and  inquire " 

"Don't  cry,  dear!"  said  Rachael's  rich,  kind  voice. 
She  put  a  hand  upon  Charlotte's  shoulder.  "Did 
you  want  to  ask  for  Charlie  ? " 

"I  know  how  odd,  how  very  odd  it  must  look," 
said  Charlotte,  managing  a  wet  smile,  "and  my  crying 
j — perfectly  absurd — I  can't  think  why  I'm  so  silly!" 

"We've  all  been  pretty  near  crying,  ourselves,  this 
morning,"  Rachael  said,  not  looking  at  her,  but  rather 
seeming  to  explain  to  the  sympathetic  yet  pleasurably 
thrilled  Fanny.  "Dear  boy,  he  is  very  ill.  Doctor 
Hamilton  has  just  been  here;  and  he  tells  us  frankly 
that  it  is  only  a  question  of  a  few  hours  now " 


THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL  225 

At  this  poor  Charlotte  tried  to  compose  her  face  to 
the  merely  sorrowful  and  shocked  expression  of  a 
person  justified  in  her  friendly  concern,  but  succeeded 
only  in  giving  Mrs.  Gregory  a  quivering  look  of  mortal 
hurt. 

"I  was  afraid  so,"  she  stammered  huskily.  "Elfrida 
Hamilton  told  me.  I  was  so — sorry " 

Rachael  began  to  perceive  that  this  was  a  great 
adventure,  a  tragic  and  heroic  initiative  for  Charlotte^ 
Poor  Charlotte,  red-eyed  behind  her  strong  glasses, 
the  bloom  of  youth  gone  from  her  face,  was  perhaps 
touching  this  morning,  the  pinnacle  of  the  few  strong 
emotions  her  life  was  to  know. 

"How  well  did  you  know  Charlie,  dear?"  asked 
Rachael  when  Fanny  was  for  the  moment  out  of 
hearing  and  they  were  in  the  dark,  rep-draped  reception- 
room.  She  had  asked  Charlotte  to  sit  down,  but  Char- 
lotte nervously  had  said  that  she  could  stay  but  another 
minute. 

"Oh,  n-n-not  very  well,  Aunt  Rachael — that  is, 
we  didn't  see  each  other  often,  since" — Rachael  knew 
since  when,  and  liked  Charlotte  for  the  clumsy  sub- 
stitute— "since  Billy  was  married.  I  know  Charlie 
called,  but  M'ma  didn't  tell  me  until  weeks  later,  and 
then  we  were  on  the  ocean.  We  met  now  and  then, 
and  once  he  telephoned,  and  I  think  he  would  have 
liked  to  see  me,  but  M'ma  felt  so  strongly — there  was 
no  way.  And  then  last  summer — we  h-h-happened 
to  meet,  he  and  I,  at  Jane  Cook's  wedding,  and  we  had 
quite  a  talk.  I  knew  M'ma  would  be  angry,  but  it 
just  seemed  as  if  I  couldn't  think  of  it  then.  And  we 
talked  of  the  things  we  liked,  you  know,  the  sort  of 
house  we  both  liked — not  like  other  people's  houses!" 
Charlotte's  plain  young  face  had  grown  bright  with 
the  recollection,  but  now  her  voice  sank  lifelessly  again. 
"But  M'ma  made  me  promise  never  to  speak  to  him 
again,  and  of  course  I  promised,"  she  said  dully. 

"I  see."  Rachael  was  silent.  There  seemed  to  be 
nothing  to  say. 


226  THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL 

"I  suppose  I  couldn't — speak  to  him  a  moment, 
Aunt  Rachael?"  Charlotte  was  scarlet,  but  she  got 
the  words  out  bravely. 

"Oh,  my  dear,  he  wouldn't  know  you.  He  doesn't 
know  any  of  us  now.  He  just  lies  there,  sometimes 
sighing  a  little " 

Charlotte  was  as  pale  now  as  she  had  been  rosy 
before,  her  lip  trembled,  and  her  whole  face  seemed  to 
be  suffused  with  tears. 

"I  see,"  she  said  in  turn.  "Thank  you,  Aunt 
Rachael,  thanks  ever  so  much.  I — I  wish  you'd  tell 
his  grandmother  how  sorry  I  am.  I — suppose  Fanny 
and  I  had  better  go  now." 

But  before  she  went  Rachael  opened  her  arms,  and 
Charlotte  came  into  them,  and  cried  bitterly  for  a  few 
minutes. 

"Poor  little  girl!"  said  the  older  woman  tenderly. 
"Poor  little  girl!" 

"I  always  loved  you,"  gulped  Charlotte,  "and  I 

would  have  come  to  see  you,  if  M'ma And  of 

course  it  was  nothing  but  the  merest  friendship  b-be- 
tween  Charlie  and  me,  only  we — we  always  seemed  to 
like  each  other." 

And  Charlotte,  her  romance  ended,  wiped  her  eyes 
and  blew  her  nose,  and  went  away.  Rachael  went 
slowly  upstairs. 

Late  that  same  afternoon,  as  she  and  the  trained  nurse 
were  dreamily  keeping  one  of  the  long  sick-watches, 
she  looked  at  the  patient,  and  was  surprised  to  see  his 
rather  insignificant  eyes  fixed  earnestly  upon  her.  In- 
stantly she  went  to  the  bedside  and  knelt  down. 

"What  is  it,  Charlie-boy?"  she  asked,  in  the  merest 
rich,  tender  essence  of  a  tone.  The  sick  eyes  broke 
over  her  distressedly.  She  could  see  the  fine  dew  of 
perspiration  at  his  waxen  temples,  and  the  lean  hand 
over  which  she  laid  her  own  was  cool  after  all  these 
feverish  days,  unwholesomely  cool. 

"Aunt  Rachael "  The  customs  of  earth  were 

still  strong  when  he  could  waste  so  much  precious  breath 


THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL  227 

upon  the  unnecessary  address.  The  nurse  hovered 
nervously  near,  but  did  not  attempt  to  silence  him. 
"Going  fast/'  he  whispered. 

"It  will  be  rest,  Charlie-boy,"  she  answered,  tears 
in  her  eyes. 

He  smiled,  and  drifted  into  that  other  world  so  near 
our  own  for  a  few  moments.  Then  she  started  at 
Charlotte's  name. 

"Charlotte,"  he  said  in  a  ghostly  whisper,  "said  she 
would  like  a  house  all  green — and  pink — with  roses— 

Rachael  was  instantly  tense.  Ah,  to  get  hold  of 
poor  starved  little  Charlotte,  to  give  her  these  last 
precious  seconds,  to  let  her  know  he  had  thought  of 
her! 

"What  about  Charlotte,  dear,  dear  boy?"  she  asked 
eagerly. 

"I  thought — it  would  be  so  pleasant — there -" 

he  said,  smiling.  He  closed  his  eyes.  She  heard  the 
little  prayer  that  he  had  learned  in  his  babyhood  for 
this  hour.  Then  there  was  silence.  Silence. 

Silence.  Rachael  looked  fearfully  at  the  nurse.  A 
few  minutes  later  she  went  to  tell  his  grandmother, 
who,  with  two  grave  sisters  sitting  beside  her,  had  been 
lying  down  since  the  religious  rites  of  an  hour  or  two 
ago.  Rachael  and  the  smaller,  rosy-faced  nun  helped 
the  stiff,  stricken  old  lady  to  her  feet,  and  it  was  with 
Rachael's  arm  about  her  that  she  went  to  her  grand- 
son's side. 

That  night  old  Mrs.  Gregory  turned  to  her  daughter- 
in-law  and  said:  "You're  good,  Rachael.  Someone 
prayed  for  you  long  ago;  someone  gave  you  good- 
ness. Don't  forget — if  you  ever  need — to  turn  to 
Srayer.  I  don't  ask  you  to  do  any  more.  It  was  for 
ames  to  make  his  sons  Christians,  and  James  did  not 
do  so.  But  promise  me  something,  Rachael:  if  James 
• — hurts  you,  if  he  fails  you — promise  me  that  you  will 
forgive  him!" 

"I  promise,"  Rachael  said  huskily,  her  heart  beat- 
ing quick  with  vague  fright.  Mrs.  Gregory  was  in 


228  THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL 

her  deep  armchair,  she  looked  old  and  broken  to-night5 
far  older  than  she  would  look  a  few  days  later  when 
she  lay  in  her  coffin.  Rachael  had  brought  her  a  cup 
of  hot  bouillon,  and  had  knelt,  daughter  fashion,  to 
see  that  she  drank  it,  and  now  the  thin  old  hand  clutched 
her  shoulder,  and  the  eager  old  eyes  were  close  to  her 
face. 

"I  have  made  mistakes,  I  have  had  every  sorrow  a 
woman  can  know,"  said  old  Mrs.  Gregory,  "but  prayer 
has  never  failed  me,  and  when  I  go,  I  believe  I  will  not 
be  afraid!" 

"I  have  made  mistakes,  too,"  Rachael  said,  strangely 
stirred,  "and  for  the  boys'  sake,  for  Warren's  sake,  I 
want  to  be — wise ! " 

The  thin  old  hand  patted  hers.  Old  Mrs.  Gregory 
lay  with  closed  eyes,  no  flicker  of  life  in  her  parchment- 
colored  face. 

"Pray  about  it!"  she  said  in  a  whisper.  She  patted 
Rachael's  hands  for  another  moment,  but  she  did  not 
speak  again. 

At  the  funeral,  kneeling  by  Warren's  side  in  the 
great  cathedral,  her  pale  face  more  lovely  than  ever  in 
a  setting  of  fresh  black,  Rachael  tried  for  the  first  time 
in  her  life  to  pray. 

They  were  rich  beyond  any  dream  or  need  now. 
Rachael  could  hardly  have  believed  that  so  great  a 
change  in  her  fortune  could  make  so  little  change  in 
her  feeling.  A  sudden  wave  of  untimely  heat  smote 
the  city,  and  it  was  hastily  decided  that  the  boys  and 
their  mother  must  get  to  the  shore,  leaving  all  the 
details  of  settling  his  mother's  estate  to  Warren.  In 
the  autumn  Rachael  would  make  those  changes  in  the 
old  house  of  which  she  had  dreamed  so  many  years  ago. 
Warren  was  not  to  work  too  hard,  and  was  to  come  to 
them  for  every  week-end. 

He  took  them  down  himself  in  the  car,  Rachael 
beside  him  on  the  front  seat,  her  baby  in  her  arms, 
Martin  and  Mary,  with  Jim,  in  the  tonneau.  Home 


THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL  229 

Dunes  had  been  opened  and  aired;  luncheon  was  wait- 
ing when  they  got  there.  Rachael  felt  triumphant, 
powerful.  Between  their  mourning  and  Warren's  un- 
expected business  responsibilities  she  would  have  a 
summer  to  her  liking. 

He  went  away  the  next  day,  and  Rachael  began  a 
series  of  cheerful  letters.  She  tried  not  to  reproach 
him  when  a  Saturday  night  came  without  bringing 
him,  she  schooled  herself  to  read,  to  take  walks,  to 
fight  depression  and  loneliness.  She  and  Alice  practised 
piano  duets,  studied  Italian,  made  sick  calls  in  the 
village,  and  sewed  for  the  babies  of  Clark's  Hills  and 
Quaker  Bridge.  About  twice  a  month,  usually  to- 
gether, the  two  went  up  to  the  city  for  a  day's  shopping. 
Then  George  and  Warren  met  them,  and  they  dined 
and  perhaps  went  to  the  theatre  together.  It  was  on 
one  of  these  occasions  that  Rachael  learned  that  Magsie 
Clay  was  in  town. 

"Working  hard — too  hard,"  said  Warren  in  response 
to  her  questions.  "She's  rehearsing  already  for  Octo- 

"  Warren !     In  all  this  heat ? " 

"Yes,  and  she  looks  pulled  down,  poor  kid!" 

" You Ve  seen  her,  then?" 

"Oh,  I  see  her  now  and  then.  Betty  Bowditch 
had  her  to  dinner,  and  now  and  then  she  and  I  go  to 
tea,  and  she  tells  me  about  her  troubles,  her  young  men, 
and  the  other  women  in  the  play!" 

"I  wonder  if  she  wouldn't  come  down  to  us  for  a 
week?"  Rachael  said  pleasantly.  Warren  brightened 
enthusiastically.  A  little  ocean  air  would  do  Magsie 
worlds  of  good. 

Magsie,  lunching  with  Rachael  at  Rachael's  club  the 
following  week,  was  prettilyjappreciative. 

"I  would  just  love  to  come!"  she  said  gratefully. 
"I'll  bring  my  bathing  suit,  and  live  in  the  water! 
But,  Rachael,  it  can  only  be  from  Friday  night  until 
Monday  morning.  Perhaps  Greg  will  run  me  down  in 
the  car,  and  bring  me  up  again  ? " 


230  THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL 

"What  else  would  I  do?"  Warren  said,  smiling. 

Rachael  fixed  the  date.  On  the  following  Friday 
night  she  met  Warren  and  Magsie  at  the  gate,  at  the 
end  of  the  long  run.  Warren  was  quite  his  old,  de- 
lightful self;  the  boys,  perfection.  Alice  gave  a  dinner 
party,  and  Alice's  brother  did  not  miss  the  opportunity 
of  a  flirtation  with  Magsie.  The  visit,  for  everyone 
but  Rachael,  was  a  great  success. 

The  little  actress  and  Rachael's  husband  were  on 
friendly,  even  intimate,  terms;  Magsie  showed  Warren 
a  letter,  Warren  murmured  advice;  Magsie  reached  a 
confident  little  brown  hand  to  him  from  the  raft; 
Warren  said,  "Be  careful,  dear!"  when  she  sprang  up 
to  leap  from  the  car.  Well,  said  Rachael  bravely,  no 
harm  in  that!  Warren  was  just  the  big,  sweet,  simple 
person  to  be  flattered  by  Magsie's  affection.  How 
could  she  help  liking  him? 

She  went  to  the  gate  again,  on  Monday  morning 
this  time,  to  say  good-bye.  Magsie  was  tucked  in 
trimly  in  Rachael's  place  beside  Rachael's  husband; 
her  gold  hair  glinted  under  a  smart  little  hat;  gloves^ 
silk  stockings,  and  gown  were  all  of  the  becoming 
creamy  tan  she  wore  so  much. 

"Saturday  night?"  Rachael  said  to  Warren. 

"Possibly  not,  dear.  I  can  tell  better  later  in  the 
week." 

"You  don't  know  how  we  slaves  envy  you,  Rachael!" 
Magsie  said.  "When  Greg  and  I  are  gasping  away 
in  some  roof-garden,  having  our  mild  little  iced  teas, 
we'll  think  of  you  down  here  on  the  glorious  ocean!" 

"We're  a  mutual  consolation  league!"  Warren  said 
with  an  appreciative  laugh. 

"He  laughs,"  Magsie  said,  "but,  honestly,  I  don't 
know  where  I'd  be  without  Greg.  You  don't  know 
how  kind  he  is  to  me,  Rachael!" 

"He's  kind  to  everyone,"  Rachael  smiled. 

"I  don't  have  to  tell  you  how  much  I've  enjoyed 
this!"  Magsie  added  gratefully. 

"Do  it  any  other  time  you  can!"     Rachael  waved 


THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL  231 

them  out  of  sight.  She  stood  at  the  gate,  in  the 
fragrant,  warm  summer  morning,  for  a  long  time  after 
they  were  gone. 

In  the  late  summer,  placidly  wasting  her  days  on 
the  sands  with  the  two  boys,  a  new  experience  befell 
Rachael.  She  had  hoped,  at  about  the  time  of  Jimmy's 
third  birthday,  to  present  him  and  his  little  brother 
with  a  sister.  Now  the  hope  vanished,  and  Rachael, 
awed  and  sad,  set  aside  a  tiny  chamber  in  her  heart 
for  the  dream,  and  went  on  about  her  life  sobered  and 
made  thoughtful  over  the  great  possibilities  that  are 
wrapped  in  every  human  birth.  Warren  had  warned 
her  that  she  must  be  careful  now,  and,  charmed  at 
his  concern  for  her  grief  and  shock,  she  rested  and 
saved  herself  wherever  she  could. 

But  autumn  came,  and  winter  came,  and  she  did  not 
grow  strong.  It  became  generally  understood  that 
Mrs.  Gregory  was  not  going  about  this  season,  and  her 
friends,  when  they  came  to  call  in  Washington  Square, 
were  apt  to  find  her  comfortably  established  on  the 
wide  couch  in  one  of  the  great  rooms  that  were  still 
unchanged,  with  a  nurse  hovering  in  the  background, 
and  the  boys  playing  before  the  fire.  Rachael  would 
send  the  children  away  with  Mary,  ring  for  tea,  and 
chatter  vivaciously  with  her  guests,  later  retailing  all 
the  gossip  to  Warren  when  he  came  to  sit  beside  her. 
Often  she  got  up  and  took  her  place  at  the  table,  and 
once  or  twice  a  month,  after  a  quiet  day,  was  tucked 
into  the  motor  car  by  the  watchful  Miss  Snow,  and 
went  to  the  theatre  or  opera,  to  be  brought  carefully 
home  again  at  eleven  o'clock,  and  given  into  Miss 
Snow's  care  again. 

She  was  not  at  all  unhappy,  the  lessening  of  social 
responsibility  was  a  real  relief,  and  Warren's  solicitude 
and  sympathy  were  a  tonic  of  which  she  drank  deep, 
night  and  morning.  His  big  warm  hands,  his  smile, 
the  confidence  of  his  voice,  these  thrilled  and  rejuve- 
nated her  continually. 


THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL 

The  boys  were  a  delight  to  her.  In  their  small 
rumpled  pajamas  they  came  into  her  room  every 
morning,  dewy  from  sleep,  full  of  delicious  plans  for  the 
day.  Jim  was  a  masterful  baby  whose  continually 
jerking  head  was  sure  to  bump  his  mother  if  she  at- 
tempted too  much  hugging,  but  dark-eyed,  grave  little 
Derry  was  "cuddly";  he  would  rest  his  shining  head 
contentedly  for  minutes  together  on  his  mother's 
breast,  and  when  she  lifted  him  from  his  crib  late  at 
night  for  a  last  kiss,  his  warm  baby  arms  would  circle 
her  neck,  and  his  rich  little  voice  murmur  luxuriously, 
"Hug  Derry/; 

Muffled  rosily  in  gaiters  and  furs,  or  running  about 
her  room  in  their  white,  resetted  slippers,  with  sturdy 
arms  and  knees  bare,  or  angelic  in  their  blue  wrappers 
after  the  evening  bath,  they  were  equally  enchanting 
to  their  mother. 

"It's  a  marvel  to  see  how  you  can  be  so  patient!" 
Warren  said  one  evening  when  he  was  dressing  for  an 
especially  notable  dinner,  and  Rachael,  in  her  big 
Chinese  coat,  was  watching  the  process  contentedly 
from  the  couch  in  his  upstairs  sitting-room. 

"Well,  that's  the  odd  thing  about  ill  health,  Greg — 
you  haven't  any  chance  to  answer  back,"  she  answered 
thoughtfully.  "If  money  could  make  me  well,  or  if 
effort  could,  I'd  get  well,  of  course!  But  there  seem 
to  be  times  when  you  simply  are  sick.  It's  an  extraor- 
dinary experience  to  me;  it's  extraordinary  to  lie 
here,  and  think  of  all  the  hundreds  of  thousands  of 
other  women  who  are  sick,  just  simply  and  quietly 
laid  low  with  no  by-your-leave !  Of  course,  my  being 
ill  doesn't  make  much  trouble;  the  boys  are  cared  for, 
the  house  goes  on,  and  I  don't  suffer!  But  suppose 
we  were  poor,  and  the  children  needed  me,  and  you 
couldn't  afford  a  nurse — then  what?  For  I'd  have  to 
collapse  and  lie  here  just  the  same!" 

"It's  no  snap  for  me,"  Warren  grumbled  after  a 
silence.  "Gosh!  I  will  be  glad  when  you're  well — - 
and  when  the  damn  nurse  is  out  of  the  house*" 


THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL  238 

"Warren,  I  thought  you  liked  Miss  Snow!" 

"Well,  I  do,  I  suppose — in  a  way.  But  I  don't  like 
her  for  breakfast,  lunch,  and  dinner — so  everlastingly 
sweet  and  fresh !  '  I  declare  I  believe  my  watch  is  losing 
time — this  is  the  third  time  this  week  I've  been  late!" 

This  was  said  in  exactly  Miss  Snow's  tone,  and 
Rachael  laughed. 

But  when  he  was  gone  a  deep  depression  fell  upon 
her.  Dear  old  boy,  it  was  not  much  of  a  life  for  him, 
going  about  alone,  sitting  down  to  his  meals  with  only 
a  trained  nurse  for  company!  Shut  away  so  deliciously 
from  the  world  with  her  husband  and  sons,  enjoying 
the  very  helplessness  that  forced  her  to  lean  so  heavily 
upon  him,  she  had  forgotten  how  hard  it  was  for  Greg! 

Yet  how  could  she  get  well  when  the  stubborn 
weakness  and  languor  persisted,  when  her  nights  were 
so  long  and  sleepless,  her  appetite  so  slight,  her  strength 
so  quickly  exhausted? 

"When  do  you  think  I  will  get  well,  Miss  Snow?" 
she  would  ask. 

"Come,  now,  we're  not  going  to  bother  our  heads 
about  that"  Miss  Snow  would  say  cheerfully.  "Why, 
you're  not  sick!  You've  just  got  to  rest  and  take 
care  of  yourself,  that's  all!  Dear  me,  if  you  were 
suffering  every  minute  of  the  time,  you  might  have 
something  to  grumble  about!" 

Doctor  Valentine  was  equally  unsatisfactory,  al- 
though Rachael  loved  the  simple,  homely  man  so  much 
that  she  could  not  be  vexed  by  his  kindly  vagueness: 

"These  things  are  slow  to  fight,  Rachael,"  said  George 
Valentine.  "Alice  had  just  such  a  fight  years  ago. 
When  the  human  machinery  runs  down,  there's  noth- 
ing for  it  but  patience!  You  did  too  much  last  winter, 
nursing  the  baby  until  you  left  for  California,  and  then 
only  the  hot  summer  between  that  and  September! 
Just  go  slow!" 

Perhaps  once  a  month  Magsie  came  in  to  see  Rachael, 
ready  to  pour  tea,  to  flirt  with  any  casual  caller,  or 


S34  THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL 

to  tickle  the  roaring  baby  with  the  little  fox  head  on 
her  muff.  She  had  been  playing  in  a  minor  part  in  a 
successful  production.  Among  all  the  callers  who 
came  and  went  perhaps  Magsie  was  the  most  at  home 
in  the  Gregory  house — a  harmless  little  affectionate 
creature,  unimportant,  but  always  welcome. 

Slowly  health  and  strength  came  back,  and  one  by 
one  Rachael  took  up  the  dropped  threads  of  her  life. 
The  early  spring  found  her  apparently  herself  again, 
but  there  was  a  touch  of  gray  here  and  there  in  her 
dark  hair,  and  Elinor  and  Judy  told  each  other  that 
her  spirits  were  not  the  same. 

They  did  not  know  what  Rachael  knew,  that  there 
Was  a  change  in  Warren,  so  puzzling,  so  disquieting, 
that  his  wife's  convalescence  was  delayed  by  many 
a  wakeful  hour  and  rainy  a  burst  of  secret  tears  on  his 
account.  She  could  not  even  analyze  it,  much  less 
was  she  fit  to  battle  with  it  with  her  old  splendid 
strength  and  sanity. 

His  genera!  attitude  toward  her,  in  these  days,  was 
one  of  ^iternal  and  brisk  kindliness.  He  liked  her 
rtw  gown,  he  didn't  care  much  for  that  hat,  she  didn't 
look  awfully  well,  better  telephone  old  George,  it 
wouldn't  do  to  have  her  sick  again!  Yes,  he  was  going 
out,  unless  she  wanted  him  for  something?  She  was 
reminded  hideously  of  her  old  days  with  Clarence. 

Shaken  and  weak  still,  she  fought  gallantly  against 
the  pain  and  bewilderment  of  the  new  problem.  She 
invited  the  persons  he  liked  to  the  house,  she  effaced 
her  own  claim,  she  tried  to  get  him  to  talk  of  his  cases. 
Sometimes,  as  the  spring  ripened,  she  planned  whole 
days  with  him  in  the  car.  They  would  go  up  to  Ossin- 
ing  and  see  the  Perrys,  or  they  would  go  to  Jersey  and 
spend  the  day  with  Doctor  Cheseborough. 

Perhaps  Warren  accepted  these  suggestions,  and 
they  had  a  cloudless  day.  Or  when  Sunday  morning 
came,  and  the  boys,  coated  and  capped,  were  eager  to 
start,  he  might  evade  them. 

"I  wonder  if  you'll  feel  badly,  Petty,  if  I  don't  go?" 


THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL  235 

"Oh,  Warren!" 

"Well,  my  dear,  I've  got  some  work  to  do.  I  ought 
to  look  up  that  meningitis  case — the  Italian  child. 
Louise'll  give  me  a  bite  of  lunch " 

"But,  dearest,  tnat  spoils  our  day!"  Rachael 
would  fling  her  wraps  down,  and  face  him  ruefully. 
"How  can  I  go  alone!  I  don't  want  to.  And  it's 
such  a  day,  and  the  babies  are  so  sweet " 

"There's  no  reason  why  you  and  the  children  shouldn't 
go."  She  had  come  to  know  that  mild,  almost  re- 
proachful, tone. 

"Oh,  but  Warren,  that  spoils  it  all!" 

"I'm  sorry!" 

Rachael  would  shut  her  lips  firmly  over  protest. 
At  best  she  might  wring  from  him  a  reluctant  change 
of  mind  and  an  annoyed  offer  of  company  which  she 
must  from  sheer  pride  decline.  At  worst  she  would 
be  treated  with  a  dignified  silence — the  peevish  and 
exacting  woman  who  could  not  understand. 

So  she  would  go  slowly  down  to  the  car,  to  Mary 
beaming  beside  Martin  in  the  front  seat,  to  the  de- 
licious boys  tumbling  about  in  the  back,  eager  for 
Mother.  With  one  on  each  side  of  her,  a  retaining 
hand  on  the  little  gaiters,  she  would  wave  the  attentive 
husband  and  father  an  amiable  farewell.  The  motor 
car  would  wheel  about  in  the  bare  May  sunshine,  the 
river  would  be  a  ripple  of  dancing  blue  waves,  morning 
riders  would  canter  on  the  bridle-path,  and  white- 
frocked  babies  toddle  along  the  paths.  Such  a  morn- 
ing for  a  ride,  if  only  Warren  were  there!  But  Rachael 
would  try  to  enjoy  her  run,  and  would  eat  Mrs.  Perry's 
or  Mrs.  Cheseborough's  fried  chicken  and  home-made 
ices  with  gracious  enthusiasm;  everyone  was  quite 
ready  to  excuse  Warren;  his  beautiful  wife  was  the 
more  popular  of  the  two. 

He  was  always  noticeably  affectionate  when  they 
got  home.  Rachael,  her  color  bright  from  sun  and 
wind,  would  entertain  him  with  a  spirited  account  of 
the  day  while  she  dressed. 


236  THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL 

K 

"I  wish  Fd  gone  with  you;  I  will  next  time!"  he 
invariably  said. 

On  the  next  Sunday  she  might  try  another  experi- 
ence. No  plans  to-day.  The  initiative  should  be 
left  to  him.  Breakfast  would  drag  along  until  after 
ten  o'clock,  and  Mary  would  appear  with  a  low  ques- 
tion. Were  the  boys  to  go  out  to  the  Park?  Rachael 
would  pause,  undecided.  Well,  yes,  Mary  might  take 
them,  but  bring  them  in  early,  in  case  Doctor  Gregory 
wished  to  take  them  somewhere. 

And  ten  minutes  later  he  might  jump  up  briskly. 
Well!  how  about  a  little  run  up  to  Pelham  Manor, 
wonderful  morning — could  she  go  as  she  was?  Rachael 
would  beg  for  ten  minutes;  she  might  come  downstairs 
in  seven  to  find  him  wavering. 

"Would  you  mind  if  we  made  it  a  pretty  short  run, 
dear,  and  then  if  I  dropped  you  here  and  went  on  down 
to  the  hospital  for  a  little  while?" 

"Why,  Warren,  it  was  your  suggestion,  dear!  Why 
take  a  drive  at  all  if  you  don't  feel  like  it!" 

"Oh,  it's  not  that — I'm  quite  willing  to.  Where  are 
the  kids?" 

"Mary  took  them  out.  They've  got  to  be  back  for 
naps  at  half-past  eleven,  you  see." 

"I  see."  He  would  look  at  his  watch.  "Well,  I'll 
tell  you  what  I  think  I'll  do.  I'll  change  and  shave 

now "  A  pause.  His  voice  would  drop  vaguely. 

"What  would  you  like  to  do?"  he  might  suggest  ami- 
ably. 

Such  a  conversation,  so  lacking  in  his  old  definite 
briskness  where  their  holidays  were  concerned,  would 
daunt  Rachael  with  a  sense  of  utter  forlornness.  Some- 
times she  offered  a  plan,  but  it  was  invariably  rejected. 
There  were  friends  who  would  have  been  delighted  at 
an  unexpected  lunch  call  from  the  Gregorys,  but  War- 
ren yawned  and  shuddered  negatives  when  she  men- 
tioned their  names.  In  the  end,  he  would  go  off  to 
the  hospital  for  an  hour  or  two,  and  later  would  tele- 
phone to  his  wife  to  explain  a  longer  absence:  he  had 


THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL  237 

met  some  of  the  boys  at  the  club  and  they  were  rather 
urging  him  to  stay  to  lunch;  he  couldn't  very  well 
decline. 

"Would  you  like  to  have  me  come  down  and  join 
you  anywhere  later?"  his  wife  might  ask  in  the  latter 
case. 

"No,  thank  you,  no.  I  may  come  straight  home 
after  lunch,  and  in  that  case  I'd  cross  you.  Boys  all 
right?" 

"Lovely."  Rachael  would  sit  at  the  telephone  desk, 
after  she  had  hung  up  the  receiver,  wrapped  in  bitter 
thought,  a  bewildered  pain  at  her  heart.  She  never 
doubted  him;  to-morrow  good,  old,  homely,  trust- 
worthy George  Valentine,  whose  wife  and  children 
were  visiting  Alice's  mother  in  Boston,  would  speak  of 
the  bridge  game  at  the  club.  But  with  his  wife  waiting 
for  him  at  home,  his  wife  who  lived  all  the  six  days  of 
the  week  waiting  for  this  seventh  day,  why  did  he  need 
the  society  of  his  men  friends  ? 

A  commonplace  retaliation  might  have  suggested 
itself  to  her,  but  there  was  no  fighting  instinct  in  Rachael 
now.  She  did  not  want  to  pique  him,  to  goad  him,  to 
flirt  with  him.  He  should  be  hers  honorably  and 
openly,  without  devices,  without  intrigue.  Stirred  to 
the  deeps  of  her  being  by  wifehood  and  motherhood, 
by  her  passionate  love  for  her  husband  and  children, 
it  was  a  humiliating  thought  that  she  must  coquette 
with  and  flatter  other  men.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  she 
found  it  difficult  to  talk  with  any  interest  of  anything 
except  Warren,  his  work  and  his  plans,  of  Jimmy  and 
Derry,  and  perhaps  of  Home  Dunes.  If  it  were  a 
matter  of  necessity  she  might  always  turn  to  the  new 
plays  and  books,  the  opera  of  the  season,  or  the  bill 
for  tenement  requirements  or  juvenile  delinquents,  but 
mere  personalities  and  intrigue  she  knew  no  more. 
These  matters  were  all  of  secondary  interest  to  her 
now;  it  seemed  to  Rachael  that  the  time  had  come 
when  mere  personalities,  when  bridge  and  cocktails 
and  dancing  and  half-true  scandals  were  not  satisfying. 


238  THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL 

"Warren,"  she  said  one  evening  when  the  move  ta 
Home  Dunes  was  near,  "should  you  be  sorry  if  I  began 
to  go  regularly  to  church  again?" 

"No,"  he  said  indifferently,  giving  her  rather  a 
surprised  glance  over  his  book.  "Churchgoing  corning 
in  again?"  , 

"It's  not  that,"  Rachael  said,  smiling  over  a  little 
sense  of  pain,  "but  I — I  like  it.  I  want  the  boys  to 
think  that  their  mother  goes  to  church  and  prays — 
and  I  really  want  to  do  it  myself! " 

He  smiled,  as  always  a  little  intolerant  of  what 
sounded  like  sentiment. 

"Oh,  come,  my  dear!  Long  before  the  boys  are  old 
enough  to  remember  it  you'll  have  given  it  up  again!" 

"I  hope  not,"  Rachael  said,  sighing.  "I  wish  I 
had  never  stopped.  I  wish  I  were  one  of  these  mild, 
nice,  village  women  who  put  out  clean  stockings  for 
the  children  every  Saturday  night,  and  clean  shirts 
and  ginghams,  and  lead  them  all  into  a  pew  Sunday 
morning,  and  teach  them  the  Golden  Rule,  and  to  honor 
their  father  and  their  mother,  and  all  the  rest  of  it!" 

"And  what  do  you  think  you  would  gain  by  that?" 
Warren  asked. 

"Oh,  I  would  gain — security,"  Rachael  said  vaguely, 
but  with  a  suspicion  of  tears  in  her  eyes.  "I  would 
have  something  to — to  stand  upon,  to  be  guided  by. 
There  is  a  purity,  an  austerity,  about  that  old  church- 
going,  loving-God-and-your-neighbor  ideal.  Truth  and 
simplicity  and  integrity  and  uprightness — my  old  great- 
grandmother  used  to  use  those  words,  but  one  doesn't 
ever  hear  them  any  more!  Everything's  half  black 
/  and  half  white  nowadays;  we're  all  as  good  or  as 
'  bad  as  we  happen  to  be  born.  There's  no  more  disci- 
pline, no  more  self-denial,  no  more  development  of 
character!  I  want  to — to  hold  on  to  something,  now 
that  forces  I  can't  control  are  coming  into  my  life." 

"What  do  you  mean  by  forces  you  can't  control?" 
he  asked  with  a  sort  of  annoyed  interest. 

"Love,    Warren,"    she    answered    quickly.     "Love 


THE  HEAET  OF  RACHAEL 

for  you  and  the  boys,  and  fear  for  you  and  the  boys. 
Love  always  brings  fear.  And  illness — I  never  thought 
of  it  before  I  was  ill.  And  jealousy " 

"What  have  you  got  to  be  jealous  of?"  he  asked, 
somewhat  gruffly,  as  she  paused. 

"Your  work,"  Rachael  said  simply;  "everything 
that  keeps  you  away  from  me ! " 

"And  you  think  going  to  Saint  Luke's  every  Sunday 
morning  at  eleven  o'clock,  and  listening  to  Billy  Graves, 
will  fix  it  all  up?"  he  smiled  not  unkindly.  But  as 
she  did  not  answer  his  smile,  and  as  the  tears  he  dis- 
liked came  into  her  eyes,  his  tone  changed.  "Now  I'll 
tell  you  what's  the  matter  with  you,  my  dear,"  he 
said  with  a  brisk  kindliness  that  cut  her  far  more  just 
then  than  severity  would  have  done,  "you're  all 
wound  up  in  self-analysis  and  psychologic  self-con- 
sciousness, and  you're  spinning  round  and  round  in 
your  own  entity  like  a  kitten  chasing  her  tail.  It's  a 
perfectly  recognizable  phase  of  a  sort  of  minor  hysteria 
that  often  gets  hold  of  women,  and  curiously  enough, 
it  usually  comes  about  five  or  six  years  after  marriage. 
We  doctors  meet  it  over  and  over  again.  'But,  Doctor, 
I'm  so  nervous  and  excited  all  the  time,  and  I  don't 
sleep!  I  worry  so — and  much  as  I  love  my  husband, 
I  just  can't  help  worrying!" 

Looking  up  and  toward  his  wife  as  she  sat  opposite 
him  in  the  lamp-light,  Warren  Gregory  found  no  smile 
on  the  beautiful  face.  Rachael's  hurt  was  deeper  than 
her  pride;  she  looked  stricken. 

"Don't  put  yourself  in  their  class,  my  dear!"  her 
husband  said  leniently.  "You  need  some  country  air. 
You'll  get  down  to  Clark's  Hills  in  a  week  or  two  and 
blow  some  of  these  notions  away.  Meanwhile,  why 
don't  you  run  down  to  the  club  every  morning,  and 
play  a  good  smashing  game  of  squash,  and  take  a 
plunge.  Put  yourself  through  a  little  training!"  He 
reopened  his  book. 

Rachael  did  not  answer.  Presently  glancing  at  her 
he  saw  that  she  was  reading,  too. 


CHAPTER  V 

THAT  his  overtired  nerves  and  her  exhausted  soul 
and  body  would  have  recovered  balance  in  time,  did 
not  occur  to  Rachael.  She  suffered  with  all  the  in- 
tensity of  a  strongly  passionate  nature.  Warren  had 
changed  to  her;  that  was  the  terrible  fact.  She  went 
about  stunned  and  sick,  neglecting  her  meals,  forgetting 
her  tonic,  refusing  the  distractions  that  would  have 
been  the  best  thing  possible  for  her.  Little  things 
troubled  her;  she  said  to  herself  bitterly  that  every- 
thing, anything,  caused  irritation  between  herself  and 
Warren  now.  Sometimes  the  atmosphere  brightened 
for  a  few  days,  then  the  old  hopeless  tugging  at  cross 
purposes  began  again. 

"You're  sick,  Rachael,  and  you  don't  know  it!" 
said  Magsie  Clay  breezily.  June  was  coming  in,  and 
Magsie  was  leaving  town  for  the  Villalonga  camp. 
She  told  Rachael  that  she  was  "crazy"  about  Kent 
Parmalee,  and  Rachael's  feeling  of  amazement  that 
Magsie  Clay  could  aspire  to  a  Parmalee  was  softened 
by  an  odd  sensation  of  relief  at  hearing  Magsie's  plans 
— a  relief  she  did  not  analyze. 

"I  believe  I  am  sick!"  Rachael  agreed.  "I  shall 
be  glad  to  get  down  to  the  shore  next  week."  She 
told  Warren  of  Magsie's  admission  that  night. 

"Kent!  She  wouldn't  look  at  him!"  Warren  said 
comfortably. 

"It  would  be  a  brilliant  match  for  her,"  Rachael 
countered  quietly. 

She  saw  that  she  had  antagonized  him,  but  he  did 
not  speak  again.  One  of  their  unhappy  silences  fell. 

Home  Dunesy  as  always,  restored  health  and  color 
magically.  Rachael  felt  more  like  herself  after  the 

240 


THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL  241 

first  night's  sleep  on  the  breezy  porch,  the  first  in- 
vigorating dip  in  the  ocean.  She  began  to  enjoy  her 
meals  again,  she  began  to  look  carefully  to  her  appear- 
ance. Presently  she  was  laughing,  singing,  bubbling 
with  life  and  energy.  Alice,  watching  her,  rejoiced 
and  marvelled  at  her  recovery.  Raphael's  beauty, 
her  old  definite  self-reliance,  came  back  in  a  flood.  She 
fairly  radiated  charm,  glowing  as  she  held  George  and 
Alice  under  the  spell  of  her  voice,  the  spell  of  her  happy 
planning.  Her  letters  to  Warren  were  in  the  old, 
tender,  vivacious  strain.  She  was  interested  in  every- 
thing, delighted  with  everything  in  Clark's  Hills.  She 
begged  him  for  news;  Vivian  had  a  baby?  And  Kent 
Parmalee  was  engaged  to  Eliza  Bowditch — what  did 
Magsie's  say?  And  did  he  miss  her?  The  minute  she 
got  home  she  was  going  to  talk  to  him  about  having  a 
big  porch  built  on,  outside  the  nursery,  and  at  the 
back  of  the  house;  what  about  it?  Then  the  children 
could  sleep  out  all  the  year  through.  George  and  Alice 
positively  stated  that  they  were  going  around  the  world 
in  two  years,  and  if  they  did,  why  couldn't  the  Gregorys 
go, too  ? 

"You're  wonderful!"  said  Alice  one  day.  "You're 
not  the  same  woman  you  were  last  winter!" 

"I  was  ill  last  winter,  woman!  And  never  so  ill  as 
when  they  all  thought  I  was  entirely  cured!  Besides 

"  Rachael  looked  down  at  her  tanned  arm  and 

slender  brown  fingers  marking  grooves  in  the  sand. 
"Besides,  it's  partly — bluff,  Alice,"  she  confessed. 
"I'm  fighting  myself  these  days.  I  don't  want  to 
think  that  we — Greg  and  I — can't  go  back,  can't  be 
to  each  other — what  we  were!" 

What  an  April  creature  she  was,  thought  Alice,  see- 
ing that  tears  were  close  to  the  averted  eyes,  and  hear- 
ing the  tremble  in  Rachael's  voice. 

"Goose!"  she  said  tenderly.  "You  were  a  nervous 
wreck  last  year,  and  Warren  was  working  far  too  hard! 
Make  haste  slowly,  Rachael." 

"But  it's  three  weeks  since  he  was  here,"  Rachael 


THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL 

said  in  a  low  voice.      "I  don't  understand  it,  that's 
all!" 

"Nor  I — nor  he!"  Alice  said,  smiling. 

"Next  week!"  Rachael  predicted  bravely.  And  a 
second  later  she  had  sprung  up  from  the  sand  and  was 
swimming  through  the  surf  as  if  she  swam  from  her  own 
intolerable  thoughts. 

The  next  week-end  would  bring  him  she  always  told 
herself,  and  usually  after  two  or  three  empty  Sundays 
there  would  come  a  happy  one,  with  the  new  car  which 
was  built  like  a  projectile,  purring  in  the  road,  George 
and  Alice  shouting  greetings  as  they  came  in  the  gate,' 
Louise  excitedly  attempting  to  outdo  herself  on  the 
dinner,  and  the  sunburned  noisy  babies  shrieking  them-, 
selves  hoarse  as  they  romped  with  their  father. 

To  be  held  tight  in  his  arms,  to  get  his  first  big  kiss, 
to  come  into  the  house  still  clinging  to  him,  was  bliss 
to  Rachael  now.  But  as  the  summer  wore  away  she 
noticed  that  in  a  few  hours  the  joy  of  homecoming 
would  fade  for  him,  he  would  become  fitfully  talkative, 
moodily  silent,  he  would  wonder  why  the  Valentines 
were  always  late,  and  ask  his  wife  patiently  if  she 
would  please  not  hum,  his  head  ached 

"Dearest!     Why  didn't  you  say  so!" 

"I  don't  know.     It's  been  aching  all  day!" 

"And  you  let  those  great  boys  climb  all  over  you!" 

"Oh,  that's  all  right." 

"Would  you  like  a  nap,  Warren,  or  would  you  like 
to  go  over  to  the  beach,  just  you  and  me,  and  have  a 
swim  ? " 

"No,  thank  you.  I  may  run  the  car  into  Katchogue" 
— Katchogue,  seven  miles  away,  was  the  site  of 
the  nearest  garage — "and  have  that  fellow  look  at 
my  magneto.  She  didn't  act  awfully  well  coming 
down!" 

"Would  you  like  me  to  go  with  you,  Warren?" 

"Love  it,  my  dear,  but  I  have  to  take  Pierre.  He's 
got  twice  the  sense  I  have  about  it!" 

And  again  a  sense  of  heaviness,  of  helplessness,  would 


THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL  243 

fall  upon  Rachael,  so  that  on  Sunday  afternoon  it  was 
almost  a  relief  to  have  him  go  away. 

"Well,"  she  would  say  in  the  nursery  again,  after 
the  good-byes,  kissing  the  fat  little  shoulder  of  Gerald 
Fairfax  Gregory  where  the  old  baby  white  ran  into 
the  new  boyish  tan,  "we  will  not  be  introspective  and 
imaginative,  and  cry  for  the  moon.  We  will  take  off 
pur  boys'  little  old,  hot  rumply  shirts,  and  put  them 
into  their  nice  cool  nighties,  and  be  glad  that  we  have 
everything  in  the  world — almost!  Get  me  your  Peter 
Rabbit  Book,  Jimmy,  and  get  up  here  on  my  other 
arm.  Everybody  hasn't  the  same  way  of  showing 
love,  and  the  main  thing  is  to  be  grateful  that  the 
love  is  there.  Daddy  loves  his  boys,  and  his  home, 
and  his  boys'  mother,  only  it  doesn't  always  occur  to 
him  that " 

"Are  you  talking  for  me,  or  for  you,  Mother?" 
Jimmy  would  sometimes  ask,  after  puzzled  and  atten- 
tive listening. 

"For  me,  this  time,  but  now  I'll  talk  for  you!'* 
Rachael  satisfied  her  hungry  heart  with  their  kisses, 
and  was  never  so  happy  as  when  both  fat  little  bodies 
were  in  her  arms.  She  grudged  every  month  that 
carried  them  away  from  babyhood,  and  one  day  Alice 
Valentine  found  her  looking  at  a  book  of  old  photo- 
graphs with  an  expression  of  actual  sadness  on  her  face. 

"Look  at  Jim,  Alice,  that  second  summer — before 
Derry  was  born!  Wasn't  he  the  dearest  little  fatty, 
tumbling  all  over  the  place!" 

"Rachael,  don't  speak  as  if  the  child  was  dead!" 
Alice  laughed. 

"Well,  one  loses  them  almost  as  completely,"  Rachael 
said,  smiling.  "Jim  is  such  a  great  big,  brown,  mis- 
chievous creature  now,  and  to  think  that  my  Derry  is 
nearly  two!" 

"Think  of  me,  with  Mary  fifteen!"  Mrs.  Valentine 
countered,  "and  just  as  baby-hungry  as  ever!  But  I 
shall  have  to  do  nothing  but  chaperon  now,  for  a  few 
years,  and  wait  for  the  grandchildren." 


244  THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL 

"I  shouldn't  mind  getting  old,  Alice,"  Rachael  said, 
"if  I  were  like  you;  you're  so  temperate  and  unselfish 
and  sweet  that  no  one  could  help  loving  you!  Besides, 
you  don't  sit  around  worrying  about  what  people 
think,  you  just  go  on  cutting  out  cookies,  and  putting 
buttons  on  gingham  dresses,  and  let  other  people  do 
the  worrying!" 

And  suddenly,  to  the  other  woman's  concern,  she 
burst  into  bitter  crying,  and  covered  her  face  with  her 
hands. 

"I'm  so  frightened,  Alice!"  sobbed  Rachael.  "I 
don't  know  what's  the  matter  with  me,  but  I  feel — I 
feel  that  something  is  all  wrong!  I  don't  seem  to  have 
any  hold  on  Warren  any  more — you  can't  explain  such 
things — but  I'm— 

She  got  to  her  feet,  a  splendid  figure  of  tragedy,  and 
walked  blindly  to  the  end  of  the  long  porch,  where  she 
stood  staring  down  at  the  heaving,  sun-flooded  expanse 
of  the  blue  sea,  and  at  the  roofs  of  little  Quaker  Bridge 
beyond  the  bar.  Lazy  waves  were  creaming,  in  great 
interlocked  circles,  on  the  white  beach,  the  air  was  as 
clear  as  crystal  on  the  cloudless  September  morning. 
Not  a  breath  of  wind  stirred  the  tufted  grass  on  the 
dunes;  down  by  the  weather-blown  bath-houses  a 
dozen  children,  her  own  among  them,  were  shouting 
and  splashing  in  the  spreading  shallows. 

Alice  Valentine,  her  plain,  sweet  face  a  picture  of 
sympathy,  sat  dumb  and  unmoving.  In  her  own  heart 
she  felt  that  Rachael's  was  a  terrible  situation.  What 
was  the  matter  with  Warren  Gregory,  anyway,  won- 
dered Alice;  he  had  a  beautiful  wife,  and  beautiful 
children,  and  if  George,  with  all  his  summer  substituting 
and  hospital  work,  could  come  to  his  family,  as  he  did 
come  every  Friday  night,  it  was  upon  no  claim  of  hard 
work  that  Warren  could  remain  away.  As  a  matter  of 
fact,  Alice  knew  it  was  not  for  work  that  he  stayed, 
for  George,  the  least  critical  of  friends,  had  once  or 
twice  told  her  of  yachting  parties  in  which  Warren  had 
participated — men's  parties,  of  which  Rachael  per* 


THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL  245 

haps  might  not  have  disapproved,  but  of  which  Rachael 
certainly  did  not  know.  George  had  told  her  vaguely 
that  Greg  liked  to  play  golf  on  Saturday  afternoons, 
and  sleep  late  on  Sunday,  and  seemed  to  feel  it  more 
of  a  rest  than  coming  down  to  the  shore. 

"I  am  a  fool  to  break  down  this  way,"  said  Rachael, 
interrupting  her  guest's  musings  to  come  back  to  her 
chair,  and  showing  a  composed  face  despite  her  red 
eyes,  "but  my — my  heart  is  heavy  to-day!"  Some- 
thing in  the  simple  dignity  of  the  words  brought  the 
tears  to  Alice's  eyes.  She  held  out  her  hand  and 
Rachael  took  it  and  clung  to  it,  as  she  went  on:  "I 
had  a  birthday  yesterday — and  Warren  forgot  it!" 

"They  all  do  that!"  Alice  said  cheerfully.  "George 
never  remembers  mine!" 

"But  Warren  always  has  before,"  Rachael  said, 
smiling  sadly,  "and — and  it  came  to  me  last  night — I 
didn't  sleep  very  well — that  I  am  thirty-four,  and — 
and  I  have  given  him  all  I  have!" 

Again  tears  threatened  her  self-control,  but  she 
fought  them  resolutely,  and  in  a  moment  was  herself 
again. 

"You  love  too  hard,  my  dear  woman,"  Alice  Valen- 
tine remonstrated  affectionately;  "nothing  is  worse 
than  extremes  in  anything.  Say  to  yourself,  like  a 
sensible  girl,  that  you  have  a  good  husband,  and  let  it 
go  at  that!  Be  as  cool  and  cheerful  with  Warren  as  if 
he  were-^-George,  for  instance,  and  try  to  interest 
yourself  in  something  entirely  outside  your  own  home. 
I  wonder  if  perhaps  this  place  isn't  a  little  lonely  for 
you?  Why  don't  you  try  Bar  Harbor  or  one  of  the 
mountain  places  next  year,  and  go  about  among  people, 
and  entertain  a  little  more?" 

"But,  Alice,  people  bore  me  so — I've  had  so  much  of 
it,  and  it's  always  the  same  thing!" 

"I  know;  I  hate  it,  too.  But  there  are  funny  phases 
in  marriage,  Rachael,  and  one  has  to  take  them  as  they 
come.  Warren  might  like  it." 

Rachael  pondered.     Elinor  Pomeroy  and  the  Villa- 


246  THE  HEART  OP  RACHAEL 

n 

longas,  the  Whittakers  and  Stokes  and  Parmalees 
again!  Noise  and  hurry,  and  dancing  and  smoking 
and  drinking  again!  She  sighed. 

"I  believe  I'll  suggest  it  to  Warren,  Alice.  Then  if 
he's  keen  for  it,  we'll  do  it  next  year." 

"I  would."  Mrs.  Valentine  rose,  and  looked  toward 
the  beach  with  an  idea  of  locating  Martha  and  Katrina 
before  sending  for  them.  "  Isn't  it  almost  lunch  time  ? " 
she  asked,  adding  in  a  matter-of-fact  tone:  "Don't 
worry  any  more,  Rachael;  it's  largely  a  bad  habit. 

Just  look  the  whole  thing  in  the  face,  and  map  it  out 
ke  a  campaign.     'The  way  to  begin  living  the  ideal 
life  is  to  begin,'  my  father  used  to  say!" 

This  talk,  and  others  like  it,  had  the  effect  of  bracing 
Rachael  to  fresh  endurance  and  of  spurring  her  to 
fresh  courage  for  the  few  days  that  its  effect  lasted. 
But  sooner  or  later  her  bravery  would  die  away,  and  an 
increasing  discouragement  possess  her.  Lying  in  her 
bare,  airy  bedroom  at  night,  with  sombre  eyes  staring 
at  the  arch  of  stars  above  the  moving  sea,  an  almost 
unbearable  loneliness  would  fall  upon  soul  and  body; 
she  needed  Warren,  she  said  to  herself,  often  with  bitter 
tears.  Warren,  splashing  in  his  bath,  scattering  wet 
towels  and  discarded  garments  so  royally  about  the 
place;  Warren,  in  a  discursive  mood,  regarding  some 
operation  as  he  stropped  his  razor;  Warren's  old, 
half-unthinking  "you  look  sweet,  dear,"  when,  fresh 
and  dainty,  his  wife  was  ready  to  go  downstairs — for 
these  and  a  thousand  other  memories  of  him  she  yearned 
with  an  aching  desire  that  racked  her  like  a  bodily 
pain. 

"Oh,  it  isn't  right  for  him  to  torture  me  so!"  she 
would  whisper  to  herself^  "It  isn't  right!" 

October  found  them  all  back  in  the  city,  an  appar- 
ently   united    and    devoted    family    again.     Rachael 
entered  with  great  zest  into  the  delayed  matter  of  re-' 
decorating  and  refurnishing  the  old  home  on  Wash- 
Jmgton  Square,  finding  the  dignified  house — Warren's 


THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL  247 

birthplace — more  and  more  to  her  liking  as  modern 
enamel  fixtures  went  into  the  bathrooms,  simple  mod- 
ern hangings  let  sunshine  and  air  in  at  the  long-darkened 
windows,  and  rich  tapestry  papers  and  Oriental  rugs 
subdued  the  effect  of  severe  cream  woodwork  and 
colonial  mantels. 

She  found  Warren  singularly  unenthusiastic  about  it, 
almost  ungracious  when  he  answered  her  questions 
or  decided  for  her  any  detail.  But  Rachael  was  firmly 
resolved  to  ignore  his  moods,  and  went  blithely  about 
her  business,  displaying  an  indifference — or  an  assumed 
indifference — that  was  evidently  somewhat  puzzling 
to  Warren  and  to  all  her  household.  She  equipped 
the  boys  in  dark-blue  coats  and  squirrel-skin  caps  for 
the  winter,  marvelling  a  little  sadly  that  their  father 
did  not  seem  to  see  the  charms  so  evident  to  all  the 
world.  A  rosier,  gayer,  more  sturdy  pair  of  devoted 
little  brothers  never  stamped  through  snowy  parks,  or 
came  chattering  in  for  chops  and  baked  potatoes. 
Every  woman  in  the  neighborhood,  every  policeman, 
knew  Jim  and  Derry  Gregory;  their  morning  walks 
were  so  many  separate  little  adventures  in  popularity. 
But  Warren,  beyond  paternal  greetings  at  breakfast, 
and  an  occasional  perfunctory  query  as  to  their  health, 
made  no  attempt  to  enter  into  their  lives.  They  were 
still  too  small  to  interest  their  father  except  as  good 
and  satisfactory  babies. 

One  bitter  December  day  the  thunderbolt  fell. 
Rachael  felt  that  she  had  always  known  it,  that  she 
had  been  sitting  in  this  hideous  hotel  dining-room  for 
years  watching  Warren — and  Margaret  Clay. 

There  was  a  bitter  taste  of  salt  water  in  her  mouth, 
there  was  a  hideous  drumming  at  her  heart.  She  felt 
sick  and  cold  from  her  bewildered  brain  down  to  her 
very  feet.  When  one  felt  like  this — one  fainted. 

But  Rachael  did  not  faint,  although  it  was  by  sheer 
power  of  will  that  she  held  her  reeling  senses.  No  scene 
—no,  there  mustn't  be  a  scene — for  Jimmy's  sake, 


£48  THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL 

for  Derry's  sake,  no  scene.  She  was  here,  in  the 
Waldorf  Grill,  of  course.  She  had  been — what  had 
she  been  doing?  She  had  been — she  came  downtown 
after  breakfast — of  course,  shopping.  Shopping  for 
the  children's  Christmas.  They  were  to  have  coasters 
— they  were  old  enough  for  coasters — she  must  go  on  this 
quiet  way,  thinking  of  the  children — five  was  old  enough 
for  coasters — and  Jim  always  looked  out  for  Derry. 

She  couldn't  go  out.  They  hadn't  seen  her;  they 
wouldn't  see  her,  here  in  this  corner.  But  she  dared 
not  stand  up  and  pass  them  again.  Warren — and 
Magsie.  Warren — and  Magsie.  Oh,  God — God — God 
— what  should  she  do — she  was  going  to  faint  again. 

Here  was  her  shopping  list,  a  little  wet  and  crumpled 
because  she  had  put  her  glove  on  the  snowy  handle 
of  the  motor-car  door.  Mary  had  said  that  it  would 
be  a  white  Christmas — how  could  Mary  tell? — this  was 

only  the  eighteenth,  only^the  eighteenth Ridiculous 

to  be  panting  this  way,  like  a  runner.  Nothing  was 
going  to  hurt  her 

"Anything — anything!"  she  said  to  the  waiter,  with 
dry,  bloodless  lips,  and  a  ghastly  attempt  at  a  smile. 
"Yes,  that  will  do.  Thank  you,  yes,  I  suppose  so. 
Yes,  if  you  will.  Thank  you.  That  will  do  nicely." 

And  now  she  must  be  quiet.  That  was  the  main 
thing  now.  They  must  not  see  her.  She  had  been 
shopping,  and  now  she  was  having  her  lunch  in  the 
Grill.  If  she  could  only  breathe  a  little  less  violently 
— but  she  seemed  to  have  no  control  over  her  heaving 
breast,  she  could  not  even  close  her  mouth.  Nobody 
suspected  anything,  and  if  she  could  but  control  her- 
self, nobody  would,  she  told  herself  desperately. 

She  never  knew  that  the  silent,  gray-haired  waiter 
recognized  her,  and  recognized  both  the  man  and 
woman  who  sat  only  thirty  feet  away.  She  had  not 
ordered  coffee,  but  he  brought  her  a  smoking  pot. 
It  was  not  the  first  time  he  had  encountered  the  situ- 
ation. Rachael  drank  the  vivifying  fluid,  and  her 
nerves  responded  at  once. 


THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL  249 

She  sat  up,  set  her  lips  firmly,  forced  herself  to  dis- 
pose of  gloves  and  napkin  in  the  usual  way.  Her 
breath  was  coming  more  evenly — so  much  was  gained. 
As  for  this  deadly  cold  and  quivering  sensation  of 
nausea,  that  was  no  more  than  fatigue  and  the  fright- 
fully cold  wind. 

So  it  was  Magsie.  Rachael  had  not  been  seven 
years  a  wife  to  misread  Warren's  eyes  as  he  looked  at 
the  girl.  No  woman  could  misread  their  attitude  to- 
gether, an  attitude  of  wonderful,  sweet  familiarity 
with  each  other's  likes  and  dislikes  under  all  its  thrill- 
ing newness.  Rachael  had  seen  him  turn  that  very 
glance,  that  smiling-eyed  yet  serious  look 

Oh,  God!  it  could  not  be  that  he  had  come  to  care 
for  Magsie!  Her  hard-won  calm  was  shattered  in  a 
second,  she  was  panting  and  quivering  again.  Her 
husband,  her  own  big,  tender,  clever  Warren — but  he 
was  hers,  and  the  boys — he  was  hers!  Her  hus- 
band— and  this  other  woman  was  looking  at  him  with 
all  her  soul  in  her  eyes,  this  other  woman  cared — all 
the  world  might  see  how  she  cared  for  him — and  was 
loved  in  return ! 

What  had  she  been  hearing,  lately,  of  Magsie? 
Rachael  began  dizzily  to  recall  what  she  could.  Magsie 
had  been  "on  the  road,"  she  had  had  a  small  part  in 
an  unsuccessful  play  early  in  the  winter.  Rachael 
had  been  for  some  reason  unable  to  see  it,  but  she  had 
sent  Magsie  flowers,  and — she  remembered  now — 
Warren  had  represented  himself  as  having  looked  in 
on  the  play  with  some  friends,  one  evening,  and  as 
having  found  it  pretty  poor  stuff.  So  little  had  Magsie 
and  Magsie's  affairs  seemed  to  matter,  then,  that 
Rachael  could  not  even  remember  the  name  of  the 
play,  nor  of  hearing  it  discussed.  The  world  in  general 
had  not  seemed  inclined  to  make  much  of  the  pro- 
fessional advent  of  Miss  Margaret  Clay,  and  presently 
the  play  closed,  and  Warren,  in  answer  to  a  careless 
question  from  Rachael,  had  said  that  they  would  prob- 
ably take  it  on  the  road  until  spring. 


250  THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL 

And  then,  some  weeks  ago,  she  had  asked  about 
Magsie  again,  and  Warren  had  said:  "I  believe  she's 
in  town.  Somebody  told  me  the  other  day  that  she 
was  to  have  a  part  in  one  of  Bowman's  things  this 


winter." 


"It's  amazing  to  me  that  Magsie  doesn't  get  ahead 
faster,"  Rachael  had  mused.  No  more  was  said. 

And  how  pretty  she  was,  how  young  she  was,  Rachael 
thought  now,  with  a  stabbing  pain  at  her  heart.  How 
earnestly  they  were  talking — no  ordinary  conversation. 
Presently  tears  were  in  the  little  actress's  eyes;  she  had 
no  handkerchief,  but  Warren  had.  He  gave  it  to  her, 
and  she  surreptitiously  wiped  her  eyes,  and  smiled  at 
him,  like  a  pretty  child,  in  her  furs. 

Rachael  felt  actually  sick  with  shock.  She  felt  as 
if  some  vital  cord  in  her  anatomy  had  been  snapped, 
and  as  if  she  could  never  control  these  heavy  languid 
limbs  of  hers  again.  Her  head  ached.  A  lassitude 
seemed  to  possess  her.  She  felt  cold,  and  old,  and 
helpless  in  the  face  of  so  much  youth  and  beauty. 

Magsie — and  Warren.  She  must  accustom  herself 
to  the  thought.  They  cared  for  each  other.  They 
cared — Rachael's  heart  seemed  to  shut  with  an  icy 
spasm,  she  felt  herself  choking  and  shut  her  eyes. 

Well,  what  could  they  do — at  worst  ?  Could  Magsie  ga 
out  now,  and  get  into  the  Gregory  motor  car,  and  say> 
"Home,  Martin!"  to  the  man?  Could  Magsie  run 
up  'the  steps  of  the  Washington  Square  house,  gather 
the  cream  of  the  day's  news  from  the  butler  in  a  breath, 
and,  flinging  off  furs  and  wraps,  catch  the  two  glorious 
boys  to  her  heart  ? 

No!  However  the  situation  developed,  Rachael  was 
still  the  wife.  Rachael  held  the  advantage,  and  what- 
ever poor  Magsie's  influence  was,  it  could  be  but  tem- 
porary, it  must  be  unrecognized  and  unapproved  by  the 
world. 

Slowly  self-control  came   back,  the   dizziness    sub- 
sided, the  room  sank  and  settled  into  its  usual  aspect 
It  was  hideous,  but  it  was  a  fact,  she  must  face  it — • 


THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL  251 

she  must  face  it.  There  was  an  honorable  way,  and  a 
dignified  way,  and  that  must  be  her  way.  No  one  must 
know. 

Presently  the  table  near  her  was  empty,  and  she 
began  to  breathe  more  naturally.  She  pondered  so 
deeply  that  for  a  long  time  the  room  was  forgotten, 
and  the  moving  crowd  shifted  about  her  unseen.  Then 
abstractedly  she  rose,  and  went  slowly  out  to  the  wait- 
ing car.  She  carried  a  heart  of  lead. 

"I've  kept  you  waiting,  Martin?" 

Martin  merely  touched  his  hat.     It  was  four  o'clock. 

And  so  Rachael  found  herself  facing  an  unbelievable 
situation.  To  love,  and  to  know  herself  unloved,  was 
a  cold,  dull  misery  that  clung  like  a  weight  to  her 
heart.  Her  thoughts  stumbled  in  a  close,  hot  fog; 
from  sheer  weariness  she  abandoned  them  again  and 
again. 

She  had  never  been  a  reasonable  woman,  but  she 
forced  herself  to  be  reasonable  now.  Logic  and  philos- 
ophy had  never  been  her  natural  defences,  but  she 
brought  logic  and  philosophy  to  bear  upon  this  hideous 
circumstance.  She  did  not  waste  time  and  tears  upon 
a  futile  "Why?"  It  was  too  late  now  to  question;  the 
fact  spoke  for  itself.  Warren's  senses  were  wrapped 
in  the  charms  of  another  woman.  His  own  devoted 
and  still  young  and  beautiful  wife  was  not  the  first 
devoted  and  young  and  beautiful  woman  to  have  her 
claim  displaced. 

For  days  after  the  episode  in  the  Waldorf  lunch-room 
she  moved  like  a  conspirator,  watching,  thinking. 
Warren  had  never  seemed  more  considerate  of  her 
happiness,  more  satisfied  with  life.  He  was  full  of 
agreeable  chatter  at  breakfast,  interested  in  her  plans, 
amused  at  the  boys.  He  did  not  come  home  for 
luncheon,  but  usually  ran  up  the  steps  at  five  o'clock, 
and  was  reading  or  dressing  when  Rachael  wandered 
into  his  room  to  greet  him  after  the  day.  He  never 
kissed  her  now,  or  touched  her  hand  even  by  chance;, 


252  THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL 

she  was  reminded,  in  his  general  aspect,  of  those  oc- 
casions when  the  delicious  Derry  wandered  out  from 
the  nursery,  evading  the  nap  which  was  his  duty,  but 
full  of  the  airy  conversation  and  small  endearments 
that  only  a  child  on  sufferance  knows. 

Rachael  tried  in  vain  to  understand  the  affair;  what 
evil  genius  possessed  Warren;  what  possessed  Magsie? 
She  tried  to  think  kindly  of  Magsie;  poor  child,  she 
had  had  no  ugly  intention,  she  was  simply  spoiled, 
simply  an  egotist  undeveloped  in  brain  and  soul! 

But — Warren !  Well,  Warren's  soft,  simple  heart  had 
been  touched  by  all  that  endearing  kittenish  confidence, 
by  Magsie's  belief  that  he  was  the  richest  and  cleverest 
and  most  powerful  of  men. 

So  they  were  meeting  for  lunch,  for  tea — where  else  ? 
What  did  they  talk  about,  what  did  they  plan  or  hope 
or  expect?  Through  all  her  hot  impatience  Rachael 
believed  that  she  could  trust  them  both,  in  the  graver 
sense.  Warren  was  as  unlikely  to  take  advantage  of 
Magsie's  youthful  innocence  as  Magsie  was  to  definitely 
commit  herself  to  a  reckless  course. 

But  what  then?  Absurd,  preposterous  as  it  was, 
it  was  not  all  a  joke.  It  had  already  shut  the  sun  from 
all  Rachael's  sky.  What  was  it  doing  to  Warren — - 
to  Magsie?  With  Rachael  in  a  cold  and  dangerous 
mood,  Warren  evasive,  unresponsive,  troubled,  what 
was  Magsie  feeling  and  thinking? 

Proudly,  and  with  a  bitter  pain  at  her  heart,  Rachael 
went  through  her  empty  days.  Her  household  affairs 
ran  as  if  by  magic;  never  was  there  a  more  successful 
conspiracy  for  one  man's  comfort  than  that  organized 
by  Rachael  and  her  maids.  For  the  first  time  since 
their  marriage  she  and  Warren  were  occupying  separate 
rooms  now,  but  Rachael  made  it  a  special  charge  to  go 
in  and  out  of  his  room  constantly  when  he  was  there. 
She  would  come  in  with  his  mail  and  his  newspaper 
at  nine  o'clock,  full  of  cheerful  solicitude,  or  follow 
him  in  for  the  half-hour  just  before  dinner,  chatting 
with  apparent  ease  of  heart  while  he  dressed. 


THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL  253 

Only  apparent  ease  of  heart,  however,  for  Warren's 
invariable  courtesy  and  sweetness  filled  his  wife  with 
sick  apprehension.  Ah,  for  the  old  good  hours  when 
he  scolded  and  argued,  protested  and  laughed  over 
the  developments  of  the  day.  Sometimes,  nowadays, 
he  hardly  heard  her,  despite  his  bright,  interested 
smile.  Once  he  had  commented  upon  her  gown  the 
instant  she  came  into  the  room;  now  he  never  seemed 
to  see  her  at  all;  as  a  matter  of  fact,  their  eyes  never 
met. 

In  February  he  told  her  suddenly  that  Margaret 
Clay  was  to  open  in  another  fortnight  at  the  Lyric, 
in  a  new  play  by  Gideon  Barrett,  called  "The  Bad  Little 
Lady." 

"At  the  Lyric!"  Rachael  said  in  a  rush  of  something 
almost  like  joy  that  they  could  speak  of  Magsie  at  last, 
"and  one  of  Barrett's!  Well,  Magsie  is  coming  on! 
What  part  does  she  take?" 

"The  lead — the  title  part — Patricia  Something-or- 
other,  I  believe." 

"The  lead!  At  the  Lyric — why,  isn't  that  an  as- 
tonishing compliment  to  Magsie!" 

Warren  looked  for  his  paper-cutter,  cut  a  page,  and 
shrugged  his  shoulders  without  glancing  up  from  his 
book. 

"Well,  yes,  I  suppose  it  is.  But  of  course  she's  gone 
steadily  ahead." 

"  But  I  thought  she  wasn't  so  successful  last  winter, 
Warren?" 

"I  don't  know,"  he  said  politely,  wearily,  uninter- 
estedly. 

"How  did  you  hear  this,  Warren?"  his  wife  asked, 
with  a  deceitful  air  of  innocence. 

"Met  her,"  he  answered  briefly. 

"Well,  we  must  see  the  play,"  Rachael  said  briskly. 
For  some  reason  her  heart  was  lighter  than  it  had  been 
for  weeks.  This  was  something  definite  and  in  the 
open  at  last  after  all  these  days  of  blundering  in  the 
dark.  "We  could  take  a  box,  couldn't  we,  and  ask 


254  THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL 

George  and  Alice?"  she  added.  Warren's  expression 
was  that  of  a  boy  whose  way  with  his  first  sweetheart 
is  too  suddenly  favored  by  parents  and  guardians,  and 
Rachael  could  have  laughed  at  his  face. 

"Well,"  he  said  without  enthusiasm.  A  week  later 
he  told  her  that  he  had  secured  the  box,  but  suggested 
that  someone  else  than  the  Valentines  be  asked,  Elinor 
and  Peter,  for  instance. 

"You  and  George  aren't  quite  as  good  friends  as 
you  were,  are  you?"  Rachael  said,  gravely. 

"Quite,"  Warren  said  with  his  bright,  deceptive 
smile  and  his  usual  averted  glance.  "Ask  anyone 
you  please — it  was  merely  a  suggestion!" 

Rachael  asked  Peter  and  Elinor,  and  gave  them  a 
delicious  dinner  before  the  play.  She  looked  her  love- 
liest, a  little  fuller  in  figure  than  she  had  been  seven 
years  before,  and  with  gray  here  and  there  in  her  rich 
hair,  but  still  a  beautiful  and  winning  presence,  and 
still  with  something  of  youth  in  her  spontaneous,  quick 
speech  and  ready  laughter.  Warren  was,  as  always,  the 
attentive  host,  but  Rachael  noticed  that  he  was  ab- 
stracted and  nervous  to-night,  and  wondered,  with  a 
chill  at  her  heart,  if  Magsie's  new  venture  meant  so 
much  to  him  as  his  manner  implied. 

It  was  an  early  dinner,  and  they  reached  the  theatre 
before  the  curtain  rose. 

"It  looks  like  a  good  house,"  said  Rachael,  settling 
herself  comfortably. 

"You  can't  tell  anything  by  this,"  Warren  said, 
quickly;  "it's  a  first  night  and  papered." 

"Aren't  you  smart  with  your  professional  terms?" 
Elinor  Pomeroy  laughed,  dropping  the  lorgnette  through 
which  she  had  been  idly  studying  the  house.  "What 
Td  like  to  know,"  she  added  interestedly,  "what  I'd 
like  to  know  is,  who's  doing  this  for  Magsie  Clay? 
Vera  Villalonga  says  she  knows,  but  I  don't  believe  it. 
Magsie's  a  little  nobody,  she  has  no  special  talent,  and 
here  she  is  leading  in  a  Barrett  play " 

Peter  Pomeroy 's  foot  here  pressed  lightly  against 


THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL  255 

Rachael's;   a  hint,  Rachael  instantly  suspected,  that 
was  intended  for  his  wife. 

"Now  I  think  Magsie's  as  straight  as  a  string,"  the 
unconscious  Mrs.  Pomeroy  went  on,  "but  she  must 
have  a  rich  beau  up  her  sleeve,  and  the  question  is, 
who  is  he?  I  don't " 

But  here,  it  was  evident,  Peter's  second  appeal  to 
his  wife's  discretion  was  felt,  and  it  suddenly  arrested, 
her  flow  of  eloquence. 

" — I  don't  doubt,"  floundered  Elinor,  "that — that  is 
— and  of  course  Magsie  is  a  talented  creature,  so  that 
naturally — naturally — some  girl  makes  a  hit  every 
year,  and  why  shouldn't  it  be  Magsie  ?  Which  is  right, 
reter,  'why  shouldn't  it  be  she'  or  'why  shouldn't  it  be 
her?'  I  never  know,"  she  finished  somewhat  inco- 
herently. 

"I  should  think  any  investment  in  Magsie  would  be 
perfectly  safe,"  said  Rachael's  delightful  voice.  And 
boldly  she  added:  "Do  you  know  who  is  backing  this, 
Warren?" 

"To  a  certain  extent — I  am,"  Warren  said,  after  an 
imperceptible  pause.  To  Peter  he  added,  in  a  lower 
voice,  the  voice  in  which  men  discuss  business  matters: 
"It  was  a  question  of  the  whole  deal  falling  through — I 
think  she'll  make  good — this  fellow  Barrett " 

Rachael  began  to  chat  with  Elinor,  but  there  was 
bitterness  in  her  soul.  She  had  leaped  into  the  breach, 
she  had  saved  the  situation,  at  least  before  Elinor  and 
Peter.  But  it  was  not  fair — not  fair  for  Warren  to 
have  been  deep  in  this  affair  with  Magsie,  with  never  a 
word  to  his  wife!  She — Rachael — would  have  been  all 
interest,  all  sympathy.  There  was  no  reason  between 
civilized  human  beings  why  this  eternal  question  of 
sex  should  debar  men  and  women  from  common  am- 
bitions and  common  interests!  Let  Warren  admire 
Magsie  if  he  wanted  to  do  so,  let  him  buy  her  her 
play,  and  stand  between  her  and  financial  responsibility, 
let  him  admire  her — yes,  even  love  her,  in  his  generous, 
big-brotherly  way!  But  why  shut  out  of  this  new 


256  THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL 

interest  the  kindly  cooperation  of  his  devoted  wife, 
who  had  never  failed  him,  who  had  borne  him  sons, 
who  had  given  him  the  whole  of  her  passionate  heart 
in  the  full  glory  of  youth,  and  in  health,  and  in  sickness, 
when  it  came,  had  turned  to  him  for  all  the  happiness 
of  her  life! 

The  play  began,  and  presently  the  house  was  ap- 
plauding the  entrance  of  Miss  Margaret  Clay.  She 
came  down  a  wide,  light-flooded  stairway,  and  in  her 
childish  white  gown  and  flower-wreathed  shepherdess 
hat  looked  about  sixteen.  "How  young  she  is!" 
Rachael  thought  with  a  pang.  Her  voice  was  young, 
too,  the  fact  being  that  Magsie  was  frightened,  and 
that  Nature  was  helping  her  play  her  first  big  ingenue 
part. 

Rachael  glanced  in  the  darkness  at  Warren.  He 
had  not  joined  in  the  applause,  nor  did  his  handsome 
face  express  any  pleasure.  He  was  leaning  forward, 
his  hands  locked  and  hanging  between  his  knees,  his 
eyes  riveted  on  the  little  white  figure  that  was  moving 
and  talking  down  there  in  the  bright  bath  of  light  be- 
yond the  footlights. 

Despite  all  reason,  despite  her  desperate  effort  at 
self-control,  Rachael  felt  an  agony  of  pure  jealousy 
seize  her.  In  an  absolute  passion  of  envy  she  looked 
down  at  Magsie  Clay.  The  young,  flower-crowned 
head,  the  slender,  slippered  feet,  the  youthful  and  ap- 
pealing voice — what  weapons  had  she  against  these? 
And  beyond  these  was  the  additional  lure — as  old  as 
the  theatre  itself — of  the  fascinating  profession:  the 
work  that  is  like  play,  the  rouge  and  curls,  the  loves  and 
rages  so  openly  assumed  yet  so  strangely  and  stirringly 
effective!  Rachael  had  gowns  a  thousand  times  hand- 
somer than  these  youthful  muslins  and  embroideries; 
Rachael's  own  home  was  a  setting  far  more  beautiful 
than  any  that  could  be  simulated  within  the  limits  of  a 
stage;  if  Magsie  was  a  successful  ingenue,  Rachael 
might  have  been  called  a  natural  queen  of  tragedy  an<i 
of  comedy!  And  yet 


THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL  257 

And  yet,  it  was  because  she,  too,  saw  the  charm  and 
came  under  the  spell,  that  Rachael  suffered  to-night. 
If  she  could  have  laughed  it  to  scorn,  could  have  ad- 
mired the  surface  prettiness,  and  congratulated  Magsie 
upon  the  almost  perfect  illusion,  then  she  would  have 
had  the  most  effective  of  all  medicines  with  which  to 
cure  Warren's  midsummer  madness. 

But  it  seemed  to  Rachael,  stunned  with  the  terrible 
force  of  jealousy,  that  Magsie  was  the  great  star  of  the 
stage,  that  there  never  had  been  such  a  play  and  such  a 
leading  lady.  It  seemed  to  her  that  not  only  to-night's 
triumph,  but  a  thousand  other  triumphs  were  before 
her,  not  only  the  admiration  of  these  twelve  or  fifteen 
hundred  persons,  but  that  of  thousands  more!  Magsie 
would  be  a  rage!  Magsie's  young  favors  would  be 
sought  far  and  wide.  Magsie's  summer  home,  Magsie's 
winter  apartments,  Magsie's  clothes  and  fads,  these 
would  belong  to  the  adoring  public  of  the  most  warm- 
hearted and  impressionable  city  in  the  world !  Rachael 
saw  it  all  coming  with  perhaps  more  certainty  than 
did  even  the  little  actress  behind  the  footlights. 

"  Cute  play,  but  I  don't  think  much  of  Magsie ! "  Elinor 
Pomeroy  said  frankly.  Elinor  Vanderwall  would  not 
have  been  so  impolitic.  But  Rachael  felt  that  she  would 
have  liked  to  kiss  her  guest. 

"I  think  Magsie  is  rather  good,"  she  said  deliber- 
ately. 

"Nothing  like  praising  the  girl  with  faint  damns!" 
Peter  Pomeroy  chuckled. 

"Well,  what  do  you  think,  Peter?"  his  hostess  asked. 

"I — oh,  Lord!  I  don't  see  a  play  once  a  year,"  he 
said,  with  the  manner,  if  not  the  actual  presence,  of  a 
yawn.  "I  think  it's  rather  good.  I'll  tell  you  what, 
Greg,  I  don't  see  you  losing  any  money  on  it,"  he  added, 
with  interest;  "it'll  run;  the  matinee  girls  will  come!" 

"Magsie'd  kill  you  for  that,"  Elinor  said. 

"I  don't  suppose  we  could  see  Magsie,  Warren,  after 
this  is  over?"  Rachael  asked  to  make  him  speak. 

"What  did  you  say,  dear?"     He  brought  his  gaze 


258  THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL 

from  a  general  study  of  the  house  to  a  point  only  a  few 
inches  out  of  range  of  her  own.  "No,  I  hardly  think 
so,"  he  answered  when  she  had  repeated  her  question. 
"She's  probably  excited  and  tired." 

"You  wouldn't  mind  my  sending  a  line  down  by  the 
boy?"  Rachael  persisted. 

"Well,  I  don't  think  I'd  do  that "     He  hesitated. 

"Oh,  I'm  strong  for  it!"  Elinor  said  vivaciously. 
"It'll  cheer  Magsie  up.  She's  probably  scared  blue, 
and  even  I  can  see  that  this  isn't  making  much  of  a 
hit!" 

The  note  was  accordingly  scribbled  and  dispatched; 
Rachael's  heart  was  singing  because  Warren  had  not 
denied  Elinor's  comment  upon  the  success  of  the  play. 
The  leading  man,  a  popular  and  prominent  actor,  was 
disturbingly  good,  and  there  was  the  part  of  an  Irish 
maid,  a  comedy  part,  so  well  filled  by  some  hitherto 
unknown  young  actress  that  it  might  really  influence 
the  run  of  the  play;  but  still,  there  was  a  consoling 
indication  already  in  the  air  that  Margaret  Clay's 
talent  was  somewhat  too  slight  to  sustain  a  leading 
Woman. 

At  eleven  it  was  over,  and  if  Rachael  had  had  to 
endure  the  comment  that  the  second  act  was  "the  best 
yet,"  there  was  the  panacea,  immediately  to  follow, 
that  the  end  of  the  play  was  "pretty  flat." 

Presently  they  all  filed  back  to  the  dark,  windy  stage, 
and  joined  Magsie  in  her  dressing-room.  She  was 
glowing,  excited,  eager  for  praise.  Never  was  a  young 
and  lovely  woman  more  confident  of  her  charm  than 
Magsie  to-night.  A  flushed  self-satisfaction  was  pres- 
ent on  her  face  during  every  second  of  the  ten  minutes 
she  gave  them;  her  laughter  was  self-conscious,  her 
smile  full  of  artless  gratification;  she  could  not  speak 
to  any  member  of  the  little  group  unless  the  attention 
of  everyone  present  was  riveted  upon  her. 

A  callow  yooith,  evidently  her  adorer,  was  awaiting 
her.  She  spoke  slightingly  of  Bryan  Masters,  the 
leading  mam 


I* 


THE  HEAET  OF  RACHAEL  259 

"He's  charming,  Rachael,"  said  Magsie,  smiling  her 
bored  young  smile,  with  deliciously  red  lips,  as  she  was 
buttoned  into  a  long  fur  coat,  "but — he  wants  to  im- 
pose on  the  fact  that — well,  that  I  have  arrived,  if  you 
know  what  I  mean?  As  everyone  knows,  his  day  is 
pretty  well  over.  Now  you  think  I'm  conceited, 
don't  you,  Greg.  Oh,  I  like  him,  and  he  does  do  it 
rather  well,  don't  you  think?  But  Richie" — Richie 
was  the  escorting  young  man — "  Richie  and  I  tease  him 
by  breaking  into  French  now  and  then,  don't  we?" 
laughed  Magsie. 

Sauntering  out  from  the  stage  entrance  with  her 
friends,  Miss  Clay  was  the  cynosure  of  all  eyes,  and 
knew  it ;  part  of  the  audience  still  waited  for  the  tedious 
line  of  limousines  to  disperse.  She  could  not  move 
her  bright  glance  to  Warren's  without  encountering  the 
admiring  looks  of  men  and  women  all  about  her;  she 
could  not  but  hear  their  whispers:  "There,  there 
she  is — that's  Miss  Clay  now!"  Richie,  introduced 
as  Mr.  Gardiner,  muttered  that  his  car  was  somewhere; 
it  proved  to  be  a  handsome  car  with  a  chauffeur. 
Magsie  raised  her  bright  face  pleadingly  to  Warren's 
as  she  took  his  hands  for  good-bye. 

"Say  you  were  proud  of  me,  Warren?" 

He  laughed,  his  indulgent  glance  flashing  to  Elinor 
and  to  Rachael,  as  one  who  invited  their  admiration  of 
an  attractive  child,  before  he  looked  down  at  her  again. 

"Proud  of  you!  Why,  I'm  as  happy  as  you  are 
about  it!" 

"You  know,"  Magsie  said  to  Elinor  naively,  still 
holding  Warren's  hands,  "he's  helped  me — tremen- 
dously. He's  been  just — an  absolute  angel  to  me!" 
And  real  and  becoming  tears  came  suddenly  to  her 
eyes;  she  dropped  Warren's  hands  to  find  a  filmy  little 
handkerchief.  A  second  later  her  smile  flashed  out 
again.  "You  don't  mind  his  being  kind  to  me,  do 
you,  Rachael?"  she  asked  childishly. 

Rachael's  mouth  was  dry,  she  felt  that  her  smile  was 
hideous. 


260  THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL 

"Why  should  I,  Magsie?"  she  asked  a  little  huskily. 
"He's  kind  to  everyone!" 

A  moment  later  the  Gregorys  and  their  guests  were 
in  the  car  whirling  toward  the  Pomeroy  home  and 
supper.  It  was  more  than  an  hour  later  that  Rachael 
and  her  husband  were  alone,  and  then  she  only  said 
mildly: 

"I  wish  you  had  let  me  know  you  were  helping 
Magsie,  so — so  conspicuously,  Warren.  One  hates  to 
be  taken  unawares  that  way." 

"She  asked  me  to  keep  the  thing  confidential,"  he 
answered  with  his  baffling  simplicity.  "She  had  this 
good  chance,  but  she  couldn't  quite  swing  it.  I  had  no 
idea  that  you  would  care,  one  way  or  the  other." 

"Well,  she  ought  to  be  launched  now,"  Rachael 
said.  She  hated  to  talk  of  Magsie,  especially  in  his 
company,  where  she  could  do  nothing  but  praise,  but 
she  could  somehow  find  it  difficult  to  speak  of  anything 
else  to-night. 

"Cunning  little  thing,  there  she  was,  holding  on  to 
my  hands,  as  innocently  as  a  child!"  Warren  said 
with  a  musing  smile.  "She's  a  funny  girl — all  fire  and 
ice,  as  she  says  herself!" 

Rachael  smothered  a  scornful  interjection.  Let 
Magsie  employ  the  arts  of  a  schoolgirl  if  she  would, 
but  at  least  let  the  great  Doctor  Gregory  perceive  their 
absurdity! 

"Young  Mr.  Richie  Gardiner  seemed  touche"  she 
observed  after  a  silence  which  Warren  seemed  willing 
indefinitely  to  prolong. 

"H'm!"  Warren  gave  a  short,  contented  laugh. 
"He's  crazy  about  her,  but  of  course  to  her  he's  only  a 
kid,"  he  volunteered.  "She's  funny  about  that,  too. 
She's  emotional,  of  course,  full  of  genius,  and  full  of 
temperament.  She  says  she  needs  a  safety-valve, 
and  Gardner  is  her  safety-valve.  She  says  she  can 
sputter  and  rage  and  laugh,  and  he  just  listens  and 
quiets  her  down.  To-night  she  called  him  her  *  bread- 
and-butter' — did  you  hear  her?" 


THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL  261 1 

"I  wonder  what  she  considers  you — her  champagne?" 
Rachael  asked  with  a  poor  assumption  of  amusement. 

But  Warren  was  too  absorbed  in  his  own  thoughts  to 
notice  it. 

"It's  curious  how  I  do  inspire  and  encourage  her," 
he  admitted.  "She  needs  that  sort  of  thing.  She's 
always  up  in  the  clouds  or  down  in  the  dumps." 

"Do  you  see  her  often,  Warren?"  Rachael  asked 
with  deadly  calm. 

"I've  seen  her  pretty  regularly  since  this  thing 
began,"  he  answered  absently,  still  too  much  wrapped  in 
the  memories  of  the  evening  to  suspect  his  wife's  emo- 
tion. Rachael  did  not  speak  again. 


CHAPTER  VI 

ONLY  Miss  Margaret  Clay  perused  the  papers  on  the 
following  morning  with  an  avidity  to  equal  that  of 
Mrs.  Warren  Gregory.  Magsie  read  hungrily  for  praise, 
Rachaei  was  as  eager  to  discover  blame.  The  actress, 
lying  in  her  soft  bed,  wrapped  in  embroidered  silk,  and 
sleepily  conscious  that  she  was  wakening  to  fame  and 
fortune,  gave,  it  is  probable,  only  an  occasional  fleet- 
ing thought  to  her  benefactor's  wife,  but  Rachaei,  crisp 
and  trim  over  her  breakfast,  thought  of  nothing  but 
Magsie  while  she  read. 

Praise — and  praise — and  praise.  But  there  was 
blame,  too;  there  was  even  sharply  contemptuous 
criticism.  On  the  whole,  Rachaei  had  almost  as  much 
satisfaction  from  her  morning's  reading  as  Magsie 
did.  The  three  most  influential  papers  did  not  com- 
ment upon  Miss  Clay's  acting  at  all.  In  two  more, 
little  Miss  Elsie  Eaton  and  Bryan  Masters  shared  the 
honors.  The  Sun  remarked  frankly  that  Miss  Clay's 
amateurish  acting,  her  baby  lisp,  her  utter  unacquain- 
tance  with  whatever  made  for  dramatic  art,  would  un- 
doubtedly insure  the  play  a  long  run.  Rachaei  knew 
that  Warren  would  see  all  these  papers,  but  she  cut  out 
all  the  pleasanter  reviews  and  put  them  on  his  dresser. 

"Did  you  see  these?"  she  asked  him  at  six  o'clock. 

"I  glanced  at  some  of  them.  You've  not  got  The 
Swnhere?" 

"No — that  was  a  mean  one,"  Rachaei  said  sweetly. 
"I  thought  it  might  distress  you,  as  it  probably  did 
Magsie." 

"I  saw  it,"  he  said,  evidently  with  no  thought  of 
her  feeling  in  the  matter.  "Lord,  no  one  minds  what 
The  Sun  thinks!" 


THE  HEART  OF  EACHAEL  263 

"She's  really  scored  a  success,"  said  Rachael  re- 
luctantly. Warren  did  not  answer. 

For  the  next  three  evenings  he  did  not  come  home  to 
dinner,  nor  until  late  at  night.  Rachael  bore  it  with 
dignity,  but  her  heart  was  sick  within  her.  She  must 
simply  play  the  waiting  game,  as  many  a  better  woman 
had  before  her,  but  she  would  punish  Warren  Gregory 
for  this  some  day! 

She  dressed  herself  charmingly  every  evening,  and 
dined  alone,  with  a  book.  Sometimes  the  old  butler 
saw  her  look  off  from  the  page,  and  saw  her  breast  rise 
on  a  quick,  rebellious  breath;  and  old  Mary  could  have 
told  of  the  hours  her  mistress  spent  in  the  nursery, 
sitting  silent  in  the  darkness  by  the  sleeping  boys,  but 
both  these  old  servants  were  loyalty's  self,  and  even 
Rachael  never  suspected  their  realization  of  the  situa- 
tion and  their  resentment.  To  Vera,  to  Elinor,  even 
to  Alice  Valentine,  she  said  never  a  word.  She  had 
discussed  Clarence  Breckenridge  easily  enough  seven 
years  before,  but  she  could  not  criticise  Warren  Gregory 
to  anyone. 

On  the  fourth  evening,  when  they  were  to  dine  with 
friends,  Warren  reached  home  in  time  to  dress,  and 
duly  accompanied  his  wife  to  the  affair.  He  com- 
plained of  a  headache  after  dinner,  and  they  went  home 
at  about  half-past  ten.  Rachael  felt  his  constraint  in 
the  car,  and  for  very  shame  could  not  make  it  hard  for 
him  when  he  suggested  that  he  should  go  downtown 
again,  to  look  in  at  the  club. 

"But  is  this  right,  is  it  fair?"  she  asked  herself 
sombrely  while  she  was  slowly  disrobing.  "Could  I 
treat  him  so?  Of  course  I  could  not!  Why,  I  have 
never  even  looked  at  a  man  since  our  very  wedding  day 
— never  wanted  to.  And  I  will  be  reasonable  now.  I 
will  be  reasonable,  but  he  tries  me  hard — he  makes  it 
hard!" 

She  put  her  face  in  her  hands  and  began  to  cry. 
Warren  was  deluded  and  under  a  temporary  spell,  but 
still  her  dear  and  good  and  handsome  husband,  her 


264  THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL 

dearest  companion  and  confidant.  And  she  missed 
him. 

Oh,  to  have  him  back  again,  in  the  old  way,  so  in- 
finitely dear  and  interested,  so  quick  with  laughter,  so 
vigorous  with  comment,  so  unsparing  where  he  blamed! 
To  have  him  come  and  kiss  the  white  parting  of  her 
hair  once  more  as  she  sat  waiting  for  him  at  the  break- 
fast table,  turn  to  her  in  the  car  with  his  quick  "  Happy  ?" 
once  more,  hold  her  tight  once  more  against  his  warm 
heart! 

How  unlike  him  it  was,  how  contemptible  it  was, 
this  playing  with  the  glorious  thing  that  had  been  their 
love!  For  the  first  time  in  her  life  Rachael  could  have 
played  the  virago,  could  have  raged  and  stamped, 
could  have  made  him  absolutely  afraid  to  misuse  her 
so.  He  did  not  deserve  such  consideration,  he  should 
not  be  treated  so  gently. 

While  she  sat  alone,  in  the  long  evenings,  she  tried 
to  follow  him  in  her  thoughts.  He  was  somewhere  in 
the  big,  warm,  dark  theatre,  watching  the  little  pool 
of  brightness  in  which  Magsie  moved,  listening  to  the 
crisp,  raw  freshness  of  Magsie's  voice.  Night  after 
night  he  must  sit  there,  drinking  in  her  beauty  and 
charm,  torturing  himself  with  the  thought  of  her  in- 
accessibility. 

It  seemed  strange  to  Rachael  that  this  world-old 
tragedy  should  come  into  her  life  with  all  the  stinging 
novelty  of  a  calamity.  People  and  press  talked  about 
a  murder,  about  an  earthquake,  about  a  fire.  Yet  what 
was  death  or  ruin  or  flames  beside  the  horror  of  know- 
ing love  to  be  outgrown,  of  living  beside  this  empty 
mask  and  shell  of  a  man  whose  mind  and  soul  were  in 
bondage  elsewhere?  Rachael  came  to  know  love  as  a 
power,  and  herself  a  victim  of  that  power  abused. 

Slowly  resentment  began  to  find  room  in  her  heart. 
It  was  all  so  childish,  so  futile,  so  unnecessary !  A  prom- 
inent surgeon,  the  husband  of  a  devoted  wife,  the  father 
of  two  splendid  sons,  thus  flinging  pride  and  sanity  to  the 
wind,  thus  being  caught  in  the  lightly  flung  net  of  an  or- 


THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL  265 

dinary,  pretty  little  actress,  the  daughter  of  a  domestic 
servant  and  a  soldier  in  the  ranks!  And  what  was  to 
be  the  outcome?  Rachael  mused  sombrely.  Was 
Warren  to  tire  simply  of  his  folly,  Magsie  to  carelessly 
fill  his  place  in  the  ranks  of  her  admirers,  Rachael  to 
gracefully  forgive  and  forget? 

It  was  an  unpalatable  role,  yet  she  saw  no  other 
open  to  her.  What  was  to  be  gained  by  coldness,  by 
anger,  by  controversy?  Was  a  man  capable  of  War- 
ren's curious  infatuation  to  be  merely  scolded  and 
punished  like  a  boy?  She  was  helpless  and  she  knew 
it.  Until  he  actually  transgressed  against  their  love, 
she  could  make  no  move.  Even  when  he  did,  or  if  he 
did,  her  only  recourse  was  the  hated  one  of  a  public 
scandal:  accusations,  recriminations. 

She  began  to  understand  his  nature  as  she  had  not 
understood  it  in  all  these  years.  Bits  of  his  mother's 
brief  comment  upon  him  came  back  to  her;  uncom- 
prehensible  when  she  first  heard  them,  they  were  curi- 
ously illuminating  now.  He  had  been  a  naturally 
good  boy,  awkward,  silent,  conscientious;  turning 
toward  integrity  as  normally  as  many  of  his  com- 
panions turned  toward  vice.  Despite  his  natural 
shyness,  his  diffidence  of  manner,  he  had  been  strong 
himself  and  had  scorned  weakness  in  anyone;  upright, 
he  needed  little  guiding.  The  praise  of  servants  and 
of  his  mother's  friends  had  been  quite  frankly  his; 
even  his  severe  mother  and  father  had  been  able  to 
find  little  fault  in  the  boy.  But  they  had  early  learned 
that  when  a  minor  correction  was  demanded  by  their 
first-born's  character,  it  was  almost  impossible  to  effect 
it.  His  standard  of  behavior  was  high,  fortunately, 
for  it  was  also  unalterable.  There  was  no  hope  of 
their  grafting  upon  his  conscience  any  new  roots. 
James  knew  right  from  wrong  with  infallible  instinct; 
he  was  not  often  wrong,  but  when  he  was,  no  outside 
-criticism  affected  him.  As  a  baby,  he  would  defend 
his  rare  misdeeds,  as  a  boy,  he  was  never  thrashed, 
because  there  was  always  some  good  reason  for  what 


266  THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL 

he  did.  He  had  been  misinformed,  he  certainly  under- 
stood the  other  fellows  to  say  this;  he  certainly  never 
heard  the  teacher  forbid  that;  handsome,  reasonable, 
self-respecting,  he  won  approval  on  all  sides,  and  be- 
cause of  this  mysterious  predisposition  toward  what 
was  right  and  just,  came  safely  to  the  years  when  he 
was  his  own  master  and  could  live  unchallenged  by 
the  high  moral  standard  he  set  himself. 

Some  of  this  Rachael  began  to  perceive.  It  was  a 
key  to  his  conduct  now.  He  respected  Magsie,  he 
admired  her;  there  was  no  reason  why  he  should  not 
indulge  his  admiration.  No  unspoken  criticism  from 
his  wife  could  affect  him,  because  he  had  seen  the 
whole  situation  clearly  and  had  decided  what  was 
seemly  and  safe  in  the  matter.  Criticism  only  brought 
a  resentful,  dull  red  color  to  Warren  Gregory's  face,  and 
confirmed  him  more  stubbornly  in  the  course  he  was 
pursuing.  He  could  even  enjoy  a  certain  martyr-like 
satisfaction  under  undeserved  censure,  all  censure  be- 
ing equally  incomprehensible  and  undeserved.  Rachael 
had  once  seen  in  this  quality  a  certain  godlike  su- 
premacy, a  bigness,  and  splendidness  of  vision  that  rose 
above  the  ordinary  standards  of  ordinary  men;  now  it 
filled  her  with  uneasiness. 

"Well,"  she  thought,  with  a  certain  desperate  phi- 
losophy, "in  a  certain  number  of  months  or  years  this 
will  all  be  over,  and  I  must  simply  endure  it  until  that 
time  comes.  Life  is  full  of  trouble,  anyway!" 

Life  was  full  of  trouble;  she  saw  it  on  all  sides.  But 
what  trivial  matters  they  were,  after  all,  that  troubled 
Elinor  and  Vera  and  Judy  Moran !  Vera  was  eternally 
rushing  into  fresh,  furious  hospitalities,  welcoming 
hordes  of  men  and  women  she  scarcely  knew  into  her 
house;  chattering,  laughing,  drinking;  flattering  the 
debutantes,  screaming  at  the  telephone,  standing 
patient  hours  under  the  dressmaker's  hands;  never 
rested,  never  satisfied,  never  stopping  to  think.  Judy 
Moran's  trouble  was  that  she  was  too  fat;  nothing  else 
really  penetrated  the  shell  of  her  indolent  good  nature. 


THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL  267 

Kenneth  might  be  politely  dropped  from  the  family 
firm,  her  husband  might  die  and  be  laid  away,  her 
brother-in-law  commence  an  ugly  suit  for  the  reclama- 
tion of  certain  jewels  and  silver  tableware,  but  all  these 
things  meant  far  less  to  Mrs.  Moran  than  the  unflat- 
tering truths  her  bedroom  scales  told  her  every  morning. 
She  had  reached  the  age  of  fifty  without  ever  acquiring 
sufficient  self-control  to  rid  herself  of  the  surplus  forty 
pounds,  yet  she  never  buttered  a  muffin  at  breakfast 
time,  or  crushed  a  French  pastry  with  her  fork  at  noon, 
without  an  inward  protest.  She  spent  large  sums  of 
money  for  corsets  and  gowns  that  would  disguise  her 
immense  weight  rather  than  deny  herself  one  cup  of 
creamed-and-sugared  tea  or  one  box  of  chocolates. 
And  she  suffered  whenever  a  casual  photograph,  or 
an  unexpected  glimpse  of  herself  in  a  mirror,  brought 
to  her  notice  afresh  the  dreadful  two  hundred  and  twenty 
pounds. 

And  Elinor  had  her  absurd  and  unnecessary  troubles, 
rich  man's  wife  as  she  was  now,  and  firmly  established 
in  the  social  group  upon  whose  outskirts  she  had 
lingered  so  long.  The  single  state  of  her  four  sisters 
was  a  constant  annoyance  to  her,  especially  as  Peter 
was  not  fond  of  the  girls,  and  liked  to  allude  to  them  as 
"spinsters"  and  "old  maids,"  and  to  ask  more  enter- 
taining and  younger  women  to  the  house.  Elinor  had 
never  wanted  a  child,  but  in  the  third  or  fourth  year  of 
her  marriage  she  had  begun  to  perceive  that  it  might 
be  wise  to  give  her  worldly  old  husband  an  heir,  much 
better  that,  at  any  cost,  than  to  encourage  his  fond- 
ness for  Barbara  Oliphant's  boy,  his  namesake  nephew, 
who  was  an  officious,  self-satisfied  little  lad  of  twelve. 
But  Nature  refused  to  cooperate  in  Elinor's  maternal 
plans  and  Peter  Junior  did  not  make  his  appearance  at 
the  big  house  on  the  Avenue.  Elinor  grew  yearly 
noisier,  more  reckless,  more  shallow;  she  rushed  about 
excitedly  from  place  to  place,  sometimes  with  Peter, 
sometimes  with  one  of  her  sisters;  not  happy  in  either 
case,  but  much  given  to  quarrelsome  questioning  of 


*68  THE  HEART  OF  HACHAEL 

life.  It  was  not  that  she  could  not  get  what  she  wanted 
so  much  as  that  she  did  not  know  her  own  mind  and 
heart.  Whatever  was  momentarily  tiresome  or  dis- 
tasteful must  be  pushed  out  of  her  path,  and  as  almost 
every  friend  and  every  human  experience  came  sooner 
or  later  into  this  category,  Elinor  found  herself  stranded 
in  the  very  centre  of  life. 

Alice  had  her  troubles,  too,  but  when  her  thoughts 
came  to  Alice,  Rachael  found  a  certain  envy  in  her 
heart.  Ah,  those  were  the  troubles  she  could  have 
welcomed;  she  could  have  cried  with  sheer  joy  at  the 
thought  that  her  life  might  some  day  slip  into  the  same 
groove  as  Alice's  life.  Rachael  loved  the  atmosphere 
of  the  big,  shabby  house  now;  it  was  the  only  place  to 
which  she  really  cared  to  go.  There  was  in  Alice  Valen- 
tine's character  something  simple,  direct,  and  high- 
principled  that  communicated  itself  to  everybody  and 
everything  in  her  household.  A  small  girl  in  her  nurs- 
ery might  show  symptoms  of  diphtheria,  a  broken  tile 
on  the  roof  might  deluge  the  bedroom  ceilings,  an  old 
cook  leave  suddenly,  or  a  heavy  rain  fall  upon  a  Sunday 
predestined  for  picknicking,  but  Alice  Valentine,  plain, 
slow  of  speech,  and  slow  of  thought,  went  her  serene 
way,  nursing,  consoling,  repairing,  readjusting. 

She  had  her  cares  about  George,  but  they  were  not 
like  Rachael's  cares  for  Warren.  Alice  knew  him  to 
be  none  too  strong,  easily  tired,  often  discouraged. 
His  professional  successes  were  many,  but  there  were 
times  when  the  collapse  of  a  tiny  child  in  a  free  hospital 
could  blot  from  George's  simple,  big,  tender  heart  the 
memory  of  a  dozen  achievements.  The  wife,  deep  in 
the  claims  of  her  four  growing  children,  sometimes 
longed  to  put  her  arms  about  him,  to  run  away  with 
him  to  some  quiet  land  of  sunshine  and  palms,  some 
lazy  curve  of  white  beach  where  he  could  rest  and  sleep, 
and  drift  back  to  his  old  splendid  energy  and  strength. 
She  longed  to  cook  for  him  the  old  dishes  he  had  loved 
in  the  early  days  of  their  marriage,  to  read  to  him,  to 
let  the  world  forget  them  while  they  forgot  the  world. 


THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL 

Instead,  a  hundred  claims  kept  them  here  in  the 
current  of  affairs.  Mary  was  a  tall,  sweet,  gracious 
girl  of  sixteen  now,  like  her  father,  a  pretty  edition  of 
his  red  hair  and  long-featured  clever  face.  Mary  must 
go  on  with  her  music,  must  be  put  through  the  lesson- 
ing and  grooming  of  a  gentlewoman,  and  take  her 
place  in  the  dancing  class  that  would  be  the  Junior 
Cotillion  in  a  year  or  two.  Alice  Valentine  was  not  a 
worldly  woman,  but  she  knew  it  would  be  sheer  cruelty 
to  let  her  daughter  grow  up  a  stranger  in  her  own  world, 
different  in  speech  and  dress  and  manner  from  all  the 
other  girls  and  boys.  So  Mary  went  to  little  dances 
at  the  Royces'  and  the  Bowditches',  and  walked  home 
from  her  riding  lesson  with  little  Billy  Parmalee  or 
Frank  Whittaker,  or  with  Florence  Haviland  and 
Bobby  Oliphant.  And  Alice  watched  her  gowns,  and 
her  hair,  and  her  pretty  young  teeth  only  a  little  less 
carefully  than  she  listened  to  her  confidences,  ques- 
tioned her  about  persons  and  things,  and  looked  for 
inaccuracies  in  her  speech. 

George  Junior  was  a  care,  too,  in  these  days  at  the 
non-committal,  unenthusiastic  age  of  fourteen,  when  all 
the  vices  in  the  world,  finger  on  lip,  form  a  bright  escort 
for  waking  or  sleeping  hours,  and  the  tenderest  and  most 
tactful  of  maternal  questions  slips  from  the  shell  of 
boyish  silence  and  gruffness  unanswered.  Full  of 
apprehension  and  eagerness,  Alice  watched  her  only 
son;  she  could  not  give  him  every  hour  of  her  busy 
days;  she  would  have  given  him  every  instant  if  she 
could.  He  was  a  good  boy,  but  he  was  human.  Dressed 
for  dinner  and  the  theatre,  his  mother  would  look  into 
the  children's  sitting-room  to  find  Mary  reading,  George 
reading,  Martha,  very  conscious  of  being  there  on  suf- 
ferance, also  reading  virtuously  and  attentively. 

"Good-night,  my  darlings!  You're  going  to  bed 
promptly  at  nine,  aren't  you,  Mary — and  Gogo,  too? 
You  know  we  were  all  late  last  night,"  Alice  would 
say,  coming  in. 

"I  am!"  Mary  would  give  her  mother  her  sunny 


270  THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL 

smile.  "Leslie  Perry  is  going  to  be  here  to-morrow 
night,  anyway,  and  we're  going  to  Thomas  Prince's 
skating  party  in  the  afternoon,  aren't  we,  Mother?" 

"Thomas  Prince,  the  big  boob!"  Gogo  might  com- 
ment without  bitterness. 

"He's  not  a  big  boob,  either,  is  he,  Mother?"  Mary 
was  swift  in  defence.  "He's  not  nearly  such  a  boob 
as  Tubby  Butler  or  Sam  Moulton!" 

"Gosh,  that's  right — knock  Tubby!"  Gogo  would 
mumble. 

"Oh,  my  darling  boy,  and  my  darling  girl!"  Alice, 
full  of  affection  and  distress,  would  look  from  one  to 
the  other.  Gogo,  standing  near  his  mother,  usually 
had  a  request. 

"They're  all  over  at  Sam's  to-night.  Gosh!  they're 
going  to  have  fun!" 

"Father  said  'Not  again  this  week,'"  Mary  might 
chant. 

"Mary!"  Alice's  reproachful  look  would  silence  her 
daughter;  she  would  put  an  arm  about  her  son. 

"What  is  it  to-night,  dear?" 

"Oh,  nothing  much!"  Gogo  would  fling  up  his  dark 
head  impatiently. 

"Just  Tubby  and  Sam?" 

"I  guess  so,"  gruffly. 

"But  Daddy  feels Alice  would  stop  short  in 

perplexity.  Why  shouldn't  he  go?  She  had  known 
Mrs.  Moulton  from  the  days  when  they  both  were 
brides,  the  Moultons'  house  was  near,  and  it  was  dull 
for  Gogo  here,  under  the  sitting-room  lamp.  If  he 
had  only  been  as  contented  as  Mary,  who,  with  a  good 
time  to  remember  from  yesterday,  and  another  to  look 
forward  to  to-morrow,  was  perfectly  happy  to-night. 
But  boys  were  different.  Sam  was  a  trustworthy  little 
fellow,  but  Alice  did  not  so  much  like  Tubby  Butler. 
And  George  did  not  like  to  have  Gogo  away  from  the 
house  at  night.  She  would  smile  into  the  boy's  gloomy 
eyes. 

"Couldn't  you  just  read  to-night,  my  son,  or  perhaps 


THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL  271 

Mary  would  play  rum  with  you?  Wouldn't  that  be 
better,  and  a  long  night's  sleep,  than  going  over  to 
Sam's  every  night?" 

But  she  would  leave  a  disappointed  and  sullen  boy 
behind  her;  his  disgusted  face  would  haunt  her  through- 
out the  entire  evening. 

Martha  was  not  so  much  a  problem,  and  little 
Katharine  was  still  baby  enough  to  be  a  joy  to  the 
whole  house.  But  between  the  children's  meals,  their 
shoes  and  hats  and  lessons,  Alice  was  a  busy  woman, 
and  she  realized  that  her  responsibilities  must  increase 
rather  than  lessen  in  the  next  few  years.  When  Mary 
was  married,  and  Gogo  finishing  college,  and  Martha 
ready  to  be  entertained  and  chaperoned  by  her  big 
sister,  then  she  and  George  might  take  Kittiwake  and 
run  away;  but  not  now. 

Rachael  formed  the  habit  of  calling  at  the  Valentine 
house  through  the  wet  winds  of  March  and  April, 
coming  in  upon  Alice  at  all  hours,  sometimes  with  the 
boys,  sometimes  alone.  Alice,  in  her  quiet  way,  was 
ready  to  open  her  heart  completely  to  her  brilliant 
friend.  Rachael  spoke  of  all  topics  except  one  to 
Alice.  They  discussed  houses  and  maids,  the  children, 
books  and  plays  and  plans  for  the  summer,  birth  and 
death,  the  approaching  responsibility  of  the  vote,  phi- 
losophies and  religions,  saints  and  sages.  And  the 
day  came  when  Rachael  spoke  of  Warren  and  of 
Margaret  Clay. 

It  was  a  quiet,  wet  spring  afternoon,  a  day  when  the 
coming  of  green  leaves  could  be  actually  felt  in  the 
softened  air.  The  two  women  were  upstairs  in  Alice's 
white  and  blue  sitting-room  enjoying  a  wood  fire. 
Jim  and  Derry  were  in  the  playroom  with  Kittiwake; 
the  house  was  silent,  so  silent  that  they  could  hear 
the  drumming  of  rain  on  the  leads,  and  the  lazy  purr 
of  the  fire. 

Alice  was  first  incredulous,  and  then  stunned  at  the 
story. 

Rachael  told  all  she  knew,  the  change  in  her  husband, 


THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL 

the  opening  night  of  "The  Bad  Little  Lady,"  her  lonely 
dinners  and  evenings,  and  Magsie's  complacent  attitude 
of  possession. 

"Well,"  said  Alice,  who  had  been  an  absorbed  and 
astounded  listener,  when  she  finished,  "I  confess  I 
don't  understand  it!  If  Warren  Gregory  is  making  a 
fool  of  himself  over  Margaret  Clay,  no  one  is  going  to 
be  as  much  ashamed  as  he  is  when  he  is  over  it.  I 
think  with  you,"  Alice  added,  much  in  earnest,  "that 
as  far  as  any  actual  infidelity  goes,  neither  one  would 
be  capable  of  it!  Magsie's  a  selfish  little  featherhead, 
but  she  has  her  own  advantage  too  close  at  heart, 
and  Warren,  no  matter  what  preposterous  theory  he 
has  to  explain  his  interest  in  Magsie,  isn't  going  to 
actually  do  anything  that  would  put  him  in  the  wrong! " 
She  paused,  but  Rachael  did  not  speak,  and  something 
in  her  aspect,  as  she  sat  steadily  watching  the  fire, 
smote  Alice  to  the  heart.  "I  have  never  been  so 
shocked  and  so  disappointed  in  my  life!"  Alice  went 
on,  "  I  can't  yet  believe  it !  The  only  thing  you  can  do 
is  keep  quiet  and  dignified,  and  wait  for  the  whole 
thing  to  wear  itself  out.  This  explains  the  change 
between  George  and  Warren.  I  knew  George  suspected 
something  from  the  way  he  tried  to  shut  me  up  when 
I  saw  Warren  the  other  night  at  the  theatre." 

"Now  that  I've  talked  about  it,"  Rachael  smiled, 
"I  believe  I  feel  better!"  And  presently  she  dried  her 
eyes,  and  even  laughed  at  herself  a  little  as  she  and 
Alice  fell  to  talking  of  other  things.  When  Rachael,  a 
boy  in  each  hand,  said  good-bye,  and  went  out  into  the 
pale,  late  afternoon  sunshine  that  followed  the  rain, 
Alice  accompanied  her  to  the  door,  and  stood  for  a 
moment  with  her  at  the  top  of  the  street  steps. 

"You're  so  lovely,  Rachael,"  said  her  friend  af- 
fectionately. "It  doesn't  seem  right  to  have  anything 
ever  trouble  anyone  so  pretty!" 

Rachael  only  smiled  doubtfully  in  answer,  but  Derry 
and  Jim  talked  all  the  way  home,  their  mother  listening 
in  silence.  She  found  their  conversation  infinitely 


THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL  273 

more  amusing  when  uninfluenced  by  her.  Both  were 
naturally  observant,  Jim  logical  and  reasonable,  Deny 
always  misled  by  his  fancy  and  his  dreams.  When 
Jim  was  a  lion,  he  was  a  lion  who  lived  in  the  Gregory 
nursery,  sat  in  the  chairs  that  belonged  to  the  Gregory 
children,  and  preyed  upon  their  toys,  as  toys.  But 
Deny  was  a  beast  of  another  calibre.  The  polished 
nursery  floo2"  was  the  still  water  of  jungle  pools,  and 
the  cribs  were  trees  which  a  hideous  and  ferocious 
beast,  radically  differing  in  every  way  from  little 
Gerald  Gregory,  climbed  at  will.  Jim  was  a  lion  who 
liked  to  be  interrupted  by  grown-ups,  who  was  laughing 
at  his  make-believe  all  the  time,  but  Deny  was  so 
frightfully  in  earnest  as  to  often  terrify  himself,  and 
almost  always  impress  his  brother,  with  his  roarings 
and  ravaging. 

To-day  their  conversation  ran  along  pleasantly;  they 
were  companionable  little  brothers,  and  only  unman- 
ageable when  separated. 

"All  the  men  walking  home  will  get  their  feet  horrid 
an'  wet,"  said  Jim,  "and  then  the  ladies  will  scold 
'em!" 

"This  would  be  a  great,  big  ocean  for  a  fairy,"  Derry 
commented,  flicking  a  wide  puddle  with  a  well-protected 
little  foot.  "Jim,"  he  added  in  an  anxious  undertone, 
"could  a  fairy  drown  ? " 

"Not  if  he  had  his  swimming  belt  on,"  Jim  said 
hardily. 

"All  the  fairies  have  to  take  little  white  rose  leaves, 
and  make  themselves  swimming  belts,"  Derry  said 
dreamily,  "'r  else  their  mothers  won't  let  them  go 
swimming,  will  they,  Mother?" 

They  did  not  wait  for  her  answer,  and  Rachael  was 
free  to  return  to  her  own  thoughts.  But  the  inter- 
ruption roused  her,  and  she  watched  the  little  pair 
with  pleasure  as  they  trotted  before  her  on  the  drying 
sidewalks.  Derry  was  blond  and  Jim  dark,  yet  they 
looked  alike,  both  with  Rachael's  dark,  expressive  eyes, 
and  with  their  father's  handsome  mouth  and  sudden, 


274  THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL 

appealing  smile.  But  Rachael  fancied  that  her  oldest 
son  was  most  like  his  father  in  type,  and  found  it  hard 
to  be  as  stern  with  Jim  as  she  was  with  the  impulsive, 
reckless,  eager  Derry,  whose  faults  were  more  apt  to 
be  her  own. 

To-night  she  went  with  them  to  the  nursery,  where 
their  little  table  was  already  set  for  supper  and  their 
small  white  beds  already  neatly  turned  down. 

"Mother's  going  to  give  us  our  baths!"  shouted  Jim. 
Both  boys  looked  at  her  eagerly;  Rachael  smiled  doubt- 
fully. 

"Mother's  afraid  that  she  will  have  to  dress,  to 
meet  Daddy  downtown,"  she  began  regretfully,  when 
old  Mary  interposed  respectfully : 

"Excuse  me,  Mrs.  Gregory.  But  Dennison  took  a 
message  from  Doctor  this  afternoon.  I  happen  to 
know  it  because  Louise  asked  me  if  I  didn't  think  she 
had  better  order  dinner  for  you.  Doctor  has  been 
called  to  Albany  on  a  case,  and  was  tp  let  you  know 
when  to  expect  him." 

"Goody — goody — good-good!"  shouted  Jim,  and 
Derry  joined  in  with  a  triumphant  shriek,  and  clasped 
his  arms  tightly  about  his  mother's  knees.  Rachael 
had  turned  a  little  pale,  but  she  kissed  both  boys,  and 
only  left  them  long  enough  to  change  her  gown  to 
something  loose  and  comfortable. 

Then  she  came  back  to  the  nursery,  and  there  were 
baths,  and  games,  and  suppers,  and  then  stories  and 
prayers  before  the  fire,  Mary  and  Rachael  laughing 
over  the  fluffy  heads,  revelling  in  the  beauty  of  the 
little  bodies. 

When  they  were  in  bed  she  went  down  to  a  solitary 
dinner,  and,  as  she  ate  it,  her  thoughts  went  back  to 
other  solitary  dinners  years  ago.  Utter  discourage- 
ment and  something  like  a  great,  all-enveloping  fear 
possessed  her.  She  was  afraid  of  life.  She  had  dented 
her  armor,  broken  her  steel,  she  had  been  flung  back 
and  worsted  in  the  fight. 

What  was  the  secret,  then,  Rachael  asked  the  fire. 


THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL  275 

if  youth  and  beauty  and  high  hopes  and  great  love  failed 
like  so  many  straws?  Why  was  Alice  contented,  and 
she,  Rachael,  torn  by  a  thousand  conflicting  hopes  and 
fears?  Why  was  it,  that  with  all  her  cleverness,  and 
all  her  beauty,  the  woman  who  had  been  Rachael  Fair- 
fax, and  Rachael  Breckenridge,  and  Rachael  Gregory, 
had  never  yet  felt  sure  of  joy,  had  never  dared  lay  hands 
upon  it  boldly,  and  know  it  to  be  her  own,  had  trembled, 
and  apprehended,  and  distrusted  where  women  of  in- 
finitely lesser  gifts  had  been  able  to  enter  into  the  king- 
dom with  such  utter  certainty  and  serenity? 

Sitting  through  the  long  evening  by  the  fire,  in  the 
drowsy  silence  of  the  big  drawing-room,  Rachael  felt 
her  eyes  grow  heavy.  Who  was  unhappy,  who  was 
happy — what  was  all  life  about  anyway 

Dennison  and  old  Mary  came  in  at  eleven,  and 
looked  at  her  for  a  long  five  minutes.  Their  eyes  said 
a  great  many  things,  although  neither  spoke  aloud. 
The  fire  had  burned  low,  the  light  of  a  shaded  lamp  fell 
softly  on  the  sleeping  woman's  face.  There  was  a 
little  frown  between  the  beautiful  brows,  and  once  she 
sighed  lightly,  like  a  child. 

The  man  stepped  softly  back  into  the  hall,  and  Mary 
touched  her  mistress. 

"Mrs.  Gregory,  you've  dropped  off  to  sleep!" 

Rachael  roused,  looked  up,  smiling  bewilderedly. 
Her  look  seemed  to  search  the  shadows  beyond  the 
old  woman's  form.  Slowly  the  new  look  of  strain  and 
sorrow  came  back  into  her  eyes. 

"Why,  so  I  did!"  she  said,  getting  to  her  feet.  "I 
think  I'll  go  upstairs.  Any  message  from  Doctor 
Gregory?" 

"No  message,  Mrs.  Gregory." 

"Thank  you,  Mary,  good-night!"  Rachael  went 
slowly  out  through  the  dimly  lighted  arch  of  the  hall 
doorway,  and  slowly  upstairs.  She  deliberately  passed 
the  nursery  door.  Her  heart  was  too  full  to  risk  a  visit 
to  the  boys  to-night.  She  lighted  her  room  and  sank 
4azedly  into  a  chair. 


276  THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL 

"I  dreamed  that  we  were  just  married,  and  in  the 
old  studio,"  she  said,  half  aloud.  "I  dreamed  I  had 
the  old — feeling  again,  of  being  so  sure,  and  so  beloved ! 
I  thought  Warren  had  come  home  early  and  had  brought 
me  violets!" 


CHAPTER  VII 

A  DAY  later  Dennison  brought  up  the  card  of  Miss 
Margaret  Clay.  Rachael  turned  it  slowly  in  her 
hands,  pondering,  with  a  quickened  heartbeat  and  a 
fluctuating  color.  Magsie  had  been  often  a  guest  in 
Rachael's  house  a  year  ago,  but  she  had  not  been  to  see 
Rachael  for  a  long  time  now.  They  were  to  meet,  they 
were  to  talk  alone  together — what  about?  There  was 
nothing  about  which  Rachael  Gregory  cared  to  talk  to 
Margaret  Clay. 

A  certain  chilliness  and  trembling  smote  Rachael, 
and  she  sat  down.  She  wished  she  had  been  out.  It 
would  be  simple  enough  to  send  down  a  message  to 
that  effect,  of  course,  but  that  was  not  the  same  thing. 
That  would  be  evading  the  issue,  whereas,  had  she 
been  put,  she  could  not  have  held  herself  responsible 
for  missing  Magsie. 

Well,  the  girl  was  in  the  neighborhood,  of  course, 
and  had  simply  come  in  to  say  how  do  you  do?  But 
it  would  mean  evasions,  and  affectations,  and  insincer- 
ities to  talk  with  Magsie;  it  would  mean  lying,  unless 
there  must  be  an  open  breach.  Rachael  found  herself 
in  a  state  of  actual  dread  of  the  encounter,  and  to 
end  it,  impatient  at  anything  so  absurd,  she  asked 
Dennison  to  bring  the  young  lady  at  once  to  her  own 
sitting-room. 

This  was  the  transformed  apartment  that  had  been 
old  Mrs.  Gregory's,  running  straight  across  the  bedroom 
floor,  and  commanding  from  four  wide  windows  a 
glimpse  of  the  old  square,  now  brave  in  new  feathery 
green.  Rachael  had  replaced  its  dull  red  rep  with  mod- 
ern tapestries,  had  had  it  papered  in  peacock  and  gray, 
had  covered  the  old,  dark  woodwork  with  cream-colored 

277 


#78  THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL 

enamel  and  replaced  the  black  marble  mantel  with  a 
simply  carved  one  of  white  stone.  The  chairs  here 
were  all  comfortable  now;  Rachael's  book  lay  on  a 
magazine-littered  table,  a  dozen  tiny,  leather-cased 
animals,  cows,  horses,  and  sheep,  were  stabled  on  the 
hearth,  and  the  spring  sunlight  poured  in  through 
fragile  curtains  of  crisp  net.  Over  the  fireplace  the 
great  oil  portrait  of  Warren  Gregory  smiled  down,  a 
younger  Warren,  but  hardly  more  handsome  than  he 
was  to-day.  A  pastel  of  the  boys'  lovely  heads  hung 
opposite  it,  between  two  windows,  and  photographs  of 
Jim  and  Derry  and  their  father  were  everywhere:  on 
the  desk,  on  the  little  grand  piano,  under  the  table 
lamp.  This  was  Rachael's  own  domain,  and  in  ask- 
ing Magsie  to  come  here  she  consciously  chose  the 
environment  in  which  she  would  feel  most  at  ease. 

Upstairs  came  the  light,  tripping  feet.  "In  here?" 
said  the  fresh,  confident  voice.  Magsie  came  in 

Rachael  met  her  at  the  door,  and  the  two  women 
shook  hands.  Magsie  hardly  glanced  at  her  hostess, 
her  dancing  scrutiny  swept  the  room  and  settled  on 
Warren's  portrait. 

She  looked  her  prettiest,  Rachael  decided  miserably. 
She  was  all  in  white:  white  shoes,  white  stockings, 
the  smartest  of  little  white  suits,  a  white  hat  half  hiding 
her  heavy  masses  of  trimly  banded  golden  hair.  If  her 
hard  winter  had  tired  Magsie — "The  Bad  Little  Lady" 
was  approaching  the  end  of  its  run — she  did  not  show 
it.  But  there  was  some  new  quality  in  her  face,  some 
quality  almost  wistful,  almost  anxious,  that  made  its 
appeal  even  to  Warren  Gregory's  wife. 

"This  is  nice  of  you,  Magsie,"  Rachael  said,  watch- 
ing her  closely,  and  conscious  still  of  that  absurd  flutter 
at  her  heart.  Both  women  had  seated  themselves, 
now  Rachael  reached  for  the  silk-lined  basket  where 
she  kept  a  little  pretence  of  needlework,  and  began  to 
sew.  There  were  several  squares  of  dark  rich  silks 
in  the  basket,  and  their  touch  seemed  to  give  her  con- 
fidence. 


THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL  279 

"What  are  you  making?"  said  Magsie  with  a  rather 
touching  pretence  at  interest.  Rachael  began  to  per- 
ceive that  Magsie  was  ill  at  ease,  too.  She  knew  the 
girl  well  enough  to  know  that  nothing  but  her  own 
affairs  interested  her;  it  was  not  like  Magsie  to  ask 
seriously  about  another  woman's  sewing. 

"Warren  likes  silk  handkerchiefs,"  explained  Rachael, 
all  the  capable  wife,  "and  those  I  make  are  much 
prettier  than  those  he  can  find  in  the  shops.  So  I  pick 
up  pieces  of  silk,  from  time  to  time,  and  keep  him 
supplied." 

"He  always  has  beautiful  handkerchiefs,"  said 
Magsie  rather  faintly.  "I  remember,  years  ago,  when 
I  was  with  Mrs.  Torrence,  thinking  that  Greg  always 
looked  so — so  carefully  groomed." 

"A  doctor  has  to  be,"  Rachael  answered  sensibly. 
There  were  no  girlish  vapors  or  uncertainties  about  her 
manner;  she  had  been  the  man's  wife  for  nearly  seven 
years;  she  was  in  his  house;  she  need  not  fear  Magsie 
Clay. 

"I  suppose  so,"  Magsie  said  vaguely. 

"What  are  your  plans,  Magsie?"  Rachael  asked 
kindly,  as  she  threaded  a  needle. 

"We  close  on  the  eighteenth,"  Magsie  announced. 

"Yes,  so  I  noticed."  Rachael  had  looked  for  th\s 
news  every  week  since  the  run  of  the  play  began.  "Well, 
that  was  a  successful  engagement,  wasn't  it?"  she 
asked.  It  began  to  be  rather  a  satisfaction  to  Rachael 
to  find  herself  at  such  close  quarters  at  last.  What  a 
harmless  little  thing  this  dreaded  opponent  was,  after  all! 

"Yes,  they  were  delighted,"  Magsie  responded  still 
in  such  a  lackadaisical,  toneless,  and  dreary  manner 
that  Rachael  glanced  at  her  in  surprise.  Magsie's 
eyes  were  full  of  tears. 

"Why,  what's  the  matter,  my  dear  child?"  she 
asked,  feeling  more  sure  of  herself  every  instant. 

Her  guest  took  a  little  handkerchief  from  her  pretty 
white  leather  purse,  and  touched  her  bright  brown  eyes 
with  it  lightly. 


280  THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL 

"I'll  tell  you,  Rachael,"  said  she,  with  an  evident 
effort  at  brightness  and  naturalness,  "I  came  here  to 
see  you  about  something  to-day,  but  I — I  don't  quite 
know  how  to  begin.  Only,  whatever  you  think  about 
it,  I  want  you  to  remember  that  your  opinion  is  what 
counts;  you're  the  one  person  who — who  can  really 
advise  me,  and  —  and  perhaps  help  me  and  other  peo- 
ple out  of  a  difficulty." 

Rachael  looked  at  her  with  a  twinge  of  inward  dis- 
taste. This  rather  dramatic  start  did  not  promise 
well;  she  was  to  be  treated  to  some  youthful  heroics. 
Instantly  the  hope  came  to  her  that  Magsie  had  some 
new  admirer,  someone  she  would  really  consider  as  a 
husband,  and  wanted  to  make  of  Rachael  an  advocate 
with  Warren,  who,  in  his  present  absurd  state  of  in- 
fatuation, might  not  find  such  a  situation  to  his  taste. 

"I  want  to  put  to  you  the  case  of  a  friend  of  mine/' 
Magsie  said  presently,  "a  girl  who,  like  myself,  is  on 
the  stage."  Rachael  wondered  if  the  girl  really  hoped 
to  say  anything  convincing  under  so  thin  a  disguise, 
but  said  nothing  herself,  and  Magsie  went  on:  "She's 

pretty,  and  young '  Her  tone  wavered.  "We've 

had  a  nice  company  all  winter,"  she  remarked  lamely. 

This  was  beginning  to  be  rather  absurd.  Rachael, 
quite  at  ease,  raised  mildly  interrogatory  eyes  to  Magsie. 

"You'll  go  on  with  your  work,  now  that  you've  begun 
so  well,  won't  you  ? "  she  asked  casually. 

"W — w — well,  I  suppose  so,"  Magsie  answered 
dubiously,  flushing  a  sudden  red.  "I — don't  know 
what  I  shall  do!" 

"But  surely  you've  had  an  unusually  encouraging 
beginning?"  pursued  Rachael  comfortably. 

"Oh,  yes,  there's  no  doubt  about  that,  at  least!" 
Magsie  said.  About  what  was  there  doubt,  then? 
Rachael  wondered. 

She  deliberately  allowed  a  little  silence  to  follow 
this  remark,  smiling,  as  if  at  her  own  thoughts,  as  she 
sewed.  The  younger  woman's  gaze  roved  restlessly 
about  the  room,  she  leaned  from  her  chair  to  take  a 


THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL  281 

framed  photograph  of  the  boys  from  a  low  bookcase, 
and  studied  it  with  evidently  forced  attention. 

"They're  stunning!"  she  said  in  an  undertone  as  she 
laid  it  aside. 

"They're  good  little  boys,"  their  mother  said 
contentedly.  "I  know  that  the  queerest  persons  in 
the  world,  about  eating  and  drinking,  are  actresses, 
Magsie,"  she  added,  smiling,  "so  I  don't  know  whether 
to  offer  you  tea,  or  hot  soup,  or  an  egg  beaten  up  in 
milk,  or  what!  We  had  a  pianist  here  about  a  year 
ago,  and " 

"Oh,  nothing,  nothing,  thank  you,  Rachael!"  Magsie 
said  eagerly  and  nervously.  "I  couldn't " 

"The  boys  may  be  in  soon,"  Rachael  remarked, 
choosing  to  ignore  her  guest's  rather  unexpected  emo- 
tion. 

This  seemed  to  spur  Magsie  suddenly  into  speech. 
She  glanced  at  the  tall  old  moonfaced  clock  that  was 
slowly  ticking  near  the  door,  as  if  to  estimate  the  time 
left  her,  and  sat  suddenly  erect  on  the  edge  of  her  chair. 

"I  mustn't  stay,"  she  said  breathlessly.  "I — I 
have  to  be  back  at  the  theatre  at  seven,  and  I  ought  to 
go  home  first  for  a  few  minutes.  My  girl — she's  just 
a  Swedish  woman  that  I  picked  up  by  chance — worries 
about  me  as  if  she  were  my  mother,  unless  I  come  in 
and  rest,  and  take  an  eggnog,  or  something."  She 
rallied  her  forces  with  a  quite  visible  effort.  "It  was 
just  this,  Rachael,"  said  Magsie,  looking  at  the  fire, 
and  twisting  her  white  gloves  in  desperate  embarrass- 
ment, "I  know  you've  always  liked  me,  you've  always 
been  so  kind  to  me,  and  I  can  only  hope  that  you'll 
forgive  me  if  what  I  say  sounds  strange  to  you.  I 
thought  I  could  come  here  and  say  it,  but — I've  always 
been  a  little  bit  afraid  of  you,  Rachael — and  I " — Magsie 
laughed  nervously — "and  I'm  scared  to  death  now!" 
she  said  simply. 

Something  natural,  unaffected,  and  direct  in  her 
usually  sftlf-conscious  and  artificial  manner  struck 
Rachael  with  a  vague  sense  of  uneasiness.  Magsie 


THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL 

certainly  did  not  seem  to  be  acting  now;  there  were 
real  tears  in  her  pretty  eyes,  and  a  genuine  break  in  her 
young  voice. 

"Fm  going  straight  ahead,"  she  said  rapidly,  "be- 
cause Fve  been  getting  up  my  courage  this  whole 
week  to  come  and  see  you,  and  now,  while  Greg  is  in 
Albany,  I  can't  put  it  off  any  longer.  He  doesn't  know 
it,  of  course,  and,  although  I  know  Fm  putting  myself 
entirely  at  your  mercy,  Rachael,  I  believe  you'll  never 
tell  him  if  I  ask  you  not  to!" 

"I  don't  understand,"  Rachael  said  slowly. 

"Fve  been  thinking  it  all  out,"  Magsie  went  on, 
"and  this  is  the  conclusion — at  least,  this  is  what  Fve 
thought!  You  have  always  had  everything,  Rachael, 
You've  always  been  so  beautiful,  and  so  much  admired. 
You  loved  Clarence,  and  married  him — oh,  don't  think 
Fm  rude,  Rachael,"  the  girl  pleaded  eagerly,  as  Rachael 
voiced  an  inarticulate  protest,  "because  Fm  so  desper- 
ately in  earnest,  and  s-s-so  desperately  unhappy!" 
Her  voice  broke  on  a  rush  of  tears,  but  she  commanded 
it,  and  hurried  on.  "You've  always  been  fortunate, 
not  like  other  women,  who  had  to  be  second  best, 
but  always  the  cleverest,  and  always  the  handsomest! 
I  remember,  when  I  heard  you  were  to  marry  Greg,  I 
was  just  sick  with  misery  for  two  or  three  days!  I 
had  seen  him  a  few  weeks  before  in  Paris,  but  he 
said  nothing  of  it,  didn't  even  mention  you.  Don't 
think  I  was  jealous,  Rachael — it  wasn't  that.  But  it 
seemed  to  me  that  you  had  everything!  First  the 
position  of  marrying  a  Breckenridge,  then  to  step 
straight  into  Greg's  life.  You'll  never  know  how  I — 
how  I  singled  you  out  to  watch 

"Just  as  I  have  singled  you  out  this  horrible  winter," 
Rachael  said  to  herself,  in  strange  pain  and  bewilder- 
ment at  heart.  Magsie  watched  her  hopefully,  but 
Rachael  did  not  speak,  and  the  girl  went  on: 

"When  I  came  to  America  I  thought  of  you,  and  I 
listened  to  what  everyone  said  of  you.  You  had  a 
splendid  boy,  named  for  Greg,  and  then  another  boy; 


THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL  283 

you  were  richer  and  happier  and  more  admired  than 
ever!  And  Rachael — I  know  you'll  forgive  me — 
you  were  so  much  finer  than  ever — when  I  met  you  I 
saw  that.  I  couldn't  dislike  you,  I  couldn't  do  any- 
thing but  admire,  with  all  the  others.  I  remember  at 
Leila's  wedding,  when  you  wore  dark  blue  and  furs, 
and  you  looked  so  lovely!  And  then  I  met  Greg  again.' 
And  truly,  truly,  Rachael,  I  never  dreamed  of  this  then ! " 

"Dreamed  of  what?"  Rachael  said  with  dry  lips. 
The  girl's  voice,  the  darkening  room,  the  dull,  fluttering 
flames  of  the  dying  fire,  seemed  all  like  some  oppressive 
dream. 

"Dreamed "  Magsie's  voice  sank.  Her  eyes 

closed,  she  put  one  hand  over  her  heart,  and  pressed  it 
there.  "Then  came  my  plan  to  go  on  the  stage,"  she 
said,  taking  up  her  story,  "and  one  day,  when  1  was 
especially  blue,  I  met  Greg.  We  had  tea  together. 
I've  never  forgotten  one  instant  of  that  day!  He  tried 
to  telephone  you,  but  couldn't  get  you;  we  just  talked 
like  any  friends.  But  he  promised  to  help  me,  he  was 
so  interested,  and  I  was  homesick  for  Paris,  and  ready 
to  die  in  this  awful  city!  After  that  you  gave  me  a 
dinner,  and  then  we  had  theatricals,  and  then  Bowman 
placed  me,  and  I  had  to  go  on  the  road.  But  I  saw 
Greg  two  or  three  times,  and  one  day — one  day  last 
winter" — again  her  voice  faltered,  as  if  she  found  the 
memories  too  poignant  for  speech — "we  drove  in  the 
Park,"  she  said  dreamily;  "and  then  Greg  saw  how  it 


was." 


Rachael  sat  silent,  stunned. 

"Oh,  Rachael,"  the  girl  said  passionately.  "Don't 
think  I  didn't  fight  it!  I  thought  of  you,  I  tried  to 
think  for  us  all.  I  said  we  would  never  see  each  other 
again,  and  I  went  away — you  know  that!  For  months 
after  that  day  in  the  Park  we  hardly  saw  each  other. 
And  then,  last  summer,  we  met  again.  And  he  talked 
to  me  so  wonderfully,  Rachael,  about  making  the  best 
of  it,  about  being  good  friends  anyway — and  I've  lived 
on  that!  But  I  can't  live  on  that  forever,  Rachael." 


284  THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL 

"You've  been  seeing  each  other?"  Rachael  asked 
stupidly. 

"Oh,  every  day!  At  tea,  you  know,  or  sometimes, 
especially  before  you  came  back,  at  dinner.  And, 
Rachael,  nobody  will  ever  know  what  it's  done  for  me! 
Greg's  managed  all  my  business,  and  whenever  I  was 
utterly  discouraged  and  tired  he  had  the  kindest  way 
of  saying:  'Never  mind,  Magsie,  I'm  tired  and  dis- 
couraged, too!"  Magsie's  face  glowed  happily  at 
the  memory  of  it.  "I  know  I'm  not  worthy  of  Greg's 
friendship,"  she  said  eagerly.  "And  all  the  time  I've 
thought  of  you,  Rachael,  as  having  the  first  right,  as 
being  far,  far  above  me  in  everything!  But — I'm 
telling  you  everything,  you  see "  Magsie  inter- 
rupted herself  to  explain. 

"Go  on!"  Rachael  urged,  clearing  her  throat. 

"Well,  it's  not  much.  But  a  week  or  two  ago  Greg 
was  talking  to  me  about  your  being  eager  to  get  the 
boys  into  the  country  early  this  year.  He  looked 
awfully  tired  that  afternoon,  and  he  said  that  he  thought 
he  would  close  this  house,  and  live  at  the  club  this 
summer,  and  he  said  'That  means  you  have  a  dinner 
date  every  night,  Magsie!'  And  suddenly,  Rachael 
— I  don't  know  what  came  over  me,  but  I  burst  out 
crying" — Magsie's  eyes  filled  now  as  she  thought  of 
it — "and  I  said,  'Oh,  Greg,  we  need  each  other!  Why 
can't  we  belong  to  each  other!  You  love  me  and  I 
love  you;  why  can't  we  give  up  our  work  and  the  city 
and  everything  else,  and  just  be  happy!" 

"And  what  did — Warren  say?"  Rachael  asked  in  a 
whisper. 

"Oh,  Rachael!  That's  what  I've  been  remembering 
ever  since!"  Magsie  said.  "That's  what  made  me 
want  to  come  to  you;  I  knew  you  would  understand! 
You're  so  good;  you  want  people  to  be  happy,"  said 
Magsie,  fighting  tears  again  and  trying  to  smile.  "You 
have  everything:  your  sons,  your  position,  your 
beauty — everything!  I'm — I'm  different  from  some 
women,  Rachael.  I  can't  just  run  away  with  him. 


THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL  285 

There  is  an  honorable  and  a  right  way  to  do  it,  and  I 
want  to  ask  you  if  you'll  let  us  take  that  way!" 

"An  honorable  way?"  Rachael  echoed  in  an  un- 
natural voice. 

"Well "  Magsie  widened  innocent  eyes.  "No- 
body has  ever  blamed  you  for  taking  it,  Rachael!" 
she  said  simply.  "And  nobody  ever  blamed  Clarence, 
with  Paula!" 

Rachael,  looking  fixedly  at  her,  sat  as  if  turned  to 
stone. 

"You  are  brave,  Magsie,  to  come  and  tell  me  this," 
she  said  at  last  quietly. 

"You  are  kind  to  listen  to  me,"  Magsie  answered 
with  disarming  sincerity.  "I  know  it  is  a  strange  thing 
to  do."  She  laughed  nervously.  "Of  course,  I  know 
that  I "  she  added.  "  But  it  came  to  me  that  I  would 
the  other  day.  Greg  and  I  were  talking  about  dreams, 
you  know — things  we  wanted  to  do.  And  we  talked 
about  going  away  to  some  beach,  and  swimming,  and 
moonlight,  and  just  rest — and  quiet " 

"I  see,"  Rachael  said. 

"Greg  said,  'This  is  only  a  dream,  Magsie,  and 
we  mustn't  let  ourselves  dream!"  Magsie  went 
on.  "But — but  sometimes  dreams  come  true,  don't 
they?" 

She  stopped.  There  was  an  unearthlv  silence  in  the 
room. 

"I've  tried  to  fight  it,  and  I  cannot,"  Magsie  pres- 
ently said  in  a  small,  tired  voice;  "it  comes  between 
me  and  everything  I  do.  I'm  not  a  great  actress — I 
know  that.  I  don't  even  want  to  be  any  more.  I 
want  to  go  away  where  no  one  will  ever  see  me  or  hear 
of  me  again.  I've  heard  of  this — feeling" — she  sent 
Rachael  a  brave  if  rather  uncertain  smile — "but  I 
never  believed  in  it  before!  I  never  believed  that 
when — when  you  care" — Rachael  was  grateful  to  be 
spared  the  great  word — "you  can't  live  or  breathe  or 
think  anything" — again  there  was  an  evasion — "but 
the  one  thing!" 


286  THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL 

And  with  a  long,  tired  sigh,  again  she  relapsed  into 
silence.  Rachael  could  find  nothing  to  say. 

"Honestly,  honestly  "  the  younger  woman  presently 
added,  "you  mustn't  think  that  either  one  of  us  saw 
this  coming!  We  were  simply  carried  away.  It  was 
only  this  year,  only  a  few  months  ago,  that  I  began  to 
think  that  perhaps — perhaps  if  you  understood,  you 
would  set — Greg  free.  You  want  to  live  just  for  the 
boys,  you  love  the  country,  and  books,  and  a  few  friends. 
Your  life  would  go  on,  Rachael,  just  as  it  has,  only  he 
would  be  happy,  and  I  would  be  happy.  Oh,  my  God," 
said  Magsie,  with  quivering  lips  and  brimming  eyes, 
"how  happy  I  would  be!" 

Rachael  looked  at  her  in  impassive  silence. 

"At  all  events,"  the  visitor  said  more  composedly, 
"I  have  been  planning  for  a  week  to  come  to  you, 
Rachael,  and  have  this  talk.  I  may  have  done  more 
harm  than  good — I  don't  know;  but  from  the  instant 
I  thought  of  it  I  have  simply  been  drawn,  as  if  I  were 
under  a  spell.  I  haven't  said  what  I  meant  to,  I  know 
that.  I  haven't  said" — her  smile  was  wistful  and 
young  and  sweet,  as,  rising  from  her  chair,  she  stood 
looking  down  at  Rachael — "how  badly  I  feel  that  it — 
it  happens  so,"  said  Magsie.  "But  you  know  how 
deeply  I've  always  admired  you!  It  must  seem  strange 
to  you  that  I  would  come  to  you  about  it.  But  Ruskin, 
wasn't  it,  and  Wagner — didn't  they  do  something  like 
this?  I  knew,  even  if  things  were  changed  between 
you  and  Greg,  that  you  would  be  big  enough  and  good 
enough  to  help  us  all  to  find  the — the  solution,  if  there 
is  one!" 

Rachael  stood  up,  too,  so  near  her  guest  that  she 
could  put  one  hand  on  Magsie's  shoulder.  The  girl 
looked  up  at  her  with  the  faith  of  a  distressed  child. 

"I'm  glad  you  did  come,  Magsie,"  said  Rachael 
painfully,  "although  I  never  dreamed,  until  this  after- 
noon, that — this — could  possibly  have  been  in  Warren's 
thoughts.  You  speak  of — divorce,  quite  naturally,  as 
of  course  anyone  may,  to  me.  But  I  never  had 


THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL  287 

thought  of  it.  It's  a  sad  tangle,  whatever  comes  of 
it,  and  perhaps  you're  right  in  feeling  that  we  had  better 
face  it,  and  try  to  find  the  solution,  if,  as  you  say,  there 


is  one." 


And  Rachael,  breathing  a  little  hard,  stood  looking 
down  at  Magsie  with  something  so  benign,  so  tragic, 
and  so  heroic  in  her  beautiful  face  that  the  younger 
woman  was  a  little  awed,  even  a  little  puzzled,  where 
she  had  been  so  sure.  She  would  have  liked  to  put 
her  arms  about  her  hostess's  neck,  and  to  seal  their 
extraordinary  treaty  with  a  kiss,  but  she  knew  better. 
As  well  attempt  to  kiss  the  vision  of  a  ministering  angel. 
Rachael,  one  arm  on  Magsie's  shoulder,  her  whole 
figure  and  her  face  expressing  painful  indecision,  had 
never  seemed  so  remote,  so  goddesslike. 

"And — and  you  won't  tell  him  of  this?"  faltered 
Magsie. 

"Ah — you  must  leave  that  to  me,"  Rachael  said  with 
a  sad  smile. 

For  a  few  seconds  longer  they  looked  at  each  other. 
Then  Rachael  dropped  her  arm,  and  Magsie  moved  a 
little.  The  visitor  knew  that  another  sentence  must 
be  in  farewell,  but  she  felt  strangely  awkward,  curi- 
ously young  and  crude.  Rachael,  except  for  the  fall- 
ing of  her  arm,  was  motionless.  Her  eyes  were  far 
away,  she  seemed  utterly  unconscious  of  herself  and  her 
surroundings.  Magsie  wanted  to  think  of  one  more 
thing  to  say,  one  clinching  sentence,  but  everything 
seemed  to  be  said.  Something  of  the  other  woman's 
weariness  and  coldness  of  spirit  seemed  to  communicate 
itself  to  her;  she  felt  tired  and  desolate.  It  seemed  a 
small  and  insignificant  matter  that  she  had  had  her 
momentous  talk  with  Rachael,  and  had  succeeded  in 
her  venture.  Love  was  failing  her,  life  was  failing. 

"I  hope — I  haven't  distressed  you — too  awfully, 
Rachael,"  Magsie  faltered.  She  had  not  thought  of 
herself,  a  few  hours  ago,  as  distressing  Rachael  at  all. 
She  had  thought  that  Rachael  might  be  scornful,  might 
be  cold,  might  overwhelm  her  with  her  magnificence 


288  THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL 

of  manner,  and  shame  her  for  her  daring.  She  had 
come  in  on  a  sudden  impulse,  and  had  had  no  time  for 
any  thought  but  that  her  revelation  would  be  exciting 
and  dramatic  and  astonishing.  She  was  sincerely 
anxious  to  have  Warren  freed,  but  not  so  swept  away 
by  emotion  that  she  could  not  appreciate  this  lovely 
setting  and  her  own  picturesque  position  in  the  eyes 
of  her  beautiful  rival. 

"Oh,  no!"  Rachael  answered,  perfunctorily  polite, 
and  with  her  eyes  still  fixed  darkly  on  space.  And  as  if 
half  to  herself,  she  added,  in  a  breathless,  level  under- 


tone: 

"It  all  rests  with  Warren!" 


Presently  Magsie  breathed  a  faint  "Good-bye/* 
following  it  with  an  almost  inaudible  murmur  that 
Dennison  would  let  her  out.  Then  the  white  figure 
was  gone  from  the  gloom  of  the  room,  and  Rachael 
was  alone. 

For  a  time  she  was  so  dazed,  so  emotionally  ex- 
hausted by  the  event  of  the  last  hour,  that  she  stood  on, 
fixed,  unseeing,  one  hand  pressed  against  her  side  as  if 
she  stopped  with  it  the  mouth  of  a  wound.  Occasion- 
ally she  drew  a  long,  sharp  breath  as  the  dying  some- 
times breathe. 

"It  all  rests  with  Warren,"  she  said  presently,  half- 
aloud,  and  in  a  toneless,  passive  voice.  And  slowly 
she  turned  and  slowly  went  to  the  window. 

The  room  was  dark,  but  twilight  lingered  in  the  old 
square,  and  home-going  men  and  women  were  filing 
across  it.  The  babies  and  their  nurses  were  gone  now, 
there  were  only  lounging  men  on  the  benches.  Lumber- 
ing green  omnibuses  rocked  their  way  through  the 
great  stone  arch,  and  toward  the  south,  over  the 
crowded  foreign  quarter,  the  pink  of  street  lamps  was 
beginning  to  battle  with  the  warm  purple  and  blue 
that  still  hung  in  the  evening  sky.  The  season  had 
been  long  delayed,  but  now  there  was  a  rustle  of  green 
against  the  network  of  boughs;  a  few  warm  days 
would  bring  the  tulips  and  the  fruit  blossoms- 


THE  HEART  OP  RACHAEL  289 

What  a  sweet,  good,  natural  world  it  was  in  which 
to  be  happy!  With  its  wheeling  motor  cars,  its  lovers 
seated  in  high  security  for  the  long  omnibus  ride,  its 
laborers  pleasantly  ready  for  the  home  table  and  the 
day's  domestic  news!  The  chattering  little  Jewish 
girls  from  one  of  the  uptown  department  stores  were 
gay  with  shrilly  voiced  plans;  the  driver,  riding  lazily 
home  on  a  pile  of  empty  bags,  had  no  quarrel  with  the 
world;  the  smooth-haired,  unhatted  Italian  women 
from  the  Ghetto,  with  shawls  wrapped  over  their  full 
breasts,  and  serene  black-eyed  babies  toddling  beside 
them,  were  placidly  content  with  the  run  of  their  days. 
It  remained  for  the  beautiful  woman  in  the  drawing- 
room  to  look  with  melancholy  eyes  upon  the  spring- 
time, and  tear  out  her  heart  in  an  agony  no  human 
power  could  cure. 

"It  all  rests  with  Warren,"  Rachael  said.  Magsie 
was  nothing,  she  was  nothing;  the  world,  the  boys, 
were  nothing.  It  was  for  Warren  to  hold  their  destinies 
in  his  hands  and  decide  for  them  all.  No  use  in  raging, 
in  reasoning,  in  arguing.  No  use  in  setting  forth  the 
facts,  the  palpable  right  and  wrong.  No  use  in  bitterly 
asking  the  unanswering  heavens  if  this  were  right  and 
just,  this  system  that  could  allow  any  young  girl  to 
feel  any  married  man,  any  father,  her  natural  prey. 
She  had  come  to  love  Warren  just  as  in  a  few  years 
she  might  come  to  love  someone  else.  That  was  all 
permissible;  regrettable  perhaps  for  Warren's  wife,  an 
unmistakable  calamity  for  Warren's  boys,  but,  from 
Magsie's  standpoint,  comprehensible  and  acceptable. 
If  Warren  were  free,  Magsie  was  well  within  her  rights; 
if  he  were  not,  Rachael  was  the  last  woman  in  the  world 
to  dispute  it. 

After  a  while  Rachael  began  to  move  mechanically 
about  the  room.  She  sat  down  at  her  desk  and  wrote 
a  few  checks;  the  boys  little  first  dancing  lessons 
must  be  paid  for,  the  man  who  mended  the  clock,  the 
woman  who  had  put  all  her  linen  in  order.  She  wrote 
briskly,  reaching  quickly  for  envelopes  and  stamps, 


290  THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL 

and,  when  she  had  finished,  closed  the  desk  with  her 
usual  neatness.  She  telephoned  the  kitchen;  had  she 
told  Louise  that  Doctor  Gregory  might  come  home  at 
midnight?  He  might  be  at  home  for  breakfast.  Then 
she  glanced  about  the  quiet  room,  and  went  softly 
put,  through  the  inner  door,  to  her  own  bedroom  ad- 
joining. She  walked  on  little  usual  errands  between 
bureau  and  wardrobe,  steadily  proceeding  with  the 
changing  of  her  gown.  Once  she  stopped  short,  in  the 
centre  of  the  floor,  and  stood  musing  for  a  few  silent 
minutes,  then  she  said,  aloud  and  lightly: 

"Poor  Magsie — it's  all  so  absurd!" 

If  for  a  few  seconds  her  thoughts  wandered,  they 
always  came  swiftly  back.  Magsie  and  Warren  had 
fallen  in  love  with  each  other — wanted  to  marry  each 
other.  Rachael  tried  to  marshal  her  whirling  thoughts; 
there  must  be  simple  reason  somewhere  in  this  chaotic 
matter.  She  had  the  desperate  sensation  of  a  mad- 
woman trying  to  prove  herself  sane.  Were  they  all 
crazy,  to  have  got  themselves  into  this  hideous  fix? 
What  was  definite,  what  facts  had  they  upon  which  to 
build  their  surmises? 

Warren  was  her  husband,  that  was  one  fact;  Warren 
loved  her,  that  was  another.  They  had  lived  together 
for  nearly  eight  years,  planned  together,  they  knew  each 
other  now,  heart  and  soul.  And  there  were  two  sons. 
These  being  facts  for  Rachael,  what  facts  had  Magsie? 
Rachael's  heart  rose  on  a  wild  rush  of  confidence. 
Magsie  had  no  basis  for  her  pretension.  Magsie  was 
young,  and  she  had  madly  and  blindly  fallen  in  love. 
There  was  her  single  claim:  she  loved.  Rachael  could 
not  doubt  it  after  that  hour  in  the  sitting-room.  But 
what  pitiable  folly!  To  love  and  to  admit  love  for 
another  woman's  husband ! 

Thinking,  thinking,  thinking,  Rachael  lay  awake  all 
night.  She  composed  herself  a  hundred  times  for 
sleep,  and  a  hundred  times  sleep  evaded  her.  Magsie 
— Warren — Rachael.  Their  names  swept  round  and 
round  in  her  tired  brain.  She  was  talking  to  Magsier 


THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL  291 

so  eloquently  and  kindly;  she  was  talking  to  Warren. 
Warren  was  shocked  at  the  mere  thought  of  her  sus- 
picions, had  seen  nothing,  had  suspected  nothing, 
couldn't  believe  that  Rachael  could  be  so  foolish! 
Warren's  arms  were  about  her,  he  was  going  to  take 
her  and  the  boys  away.  This  was  a  bad  atmosphere 
for  wives,  this  diseased  and  abnormal  city,  Warren 
said.  She  was  buying  steamer  coats  for  Deny  and 
Jim 

Magsie!  Again  the  girl's  tense,  excited  face  rose 
before  Rachael's  fevered  memory.  "You  mustn't 
think  either  one  of  us  saw  this  coming!" 

Rachael  rose  on  her  elbow,  shook  her  pillows,  flashed 
a  night-light  on  her  watch.  Quarter  to  three.  It  was 
a  rather  dismal  hour,  she  thought,  not  near  enough 
either  midnight  or  morning.  Tossing  so  long,  she  would 
be  sleepless  all  night  now. 

Well,  what  was  marriage  anyway?  Was  there  never 
a  time  of  serenity,  of  surety?  Was  any  pretty,  ir^ 
responsible  young  woman  free  to  set  her  heart  upon 
another  woman's  husband,  the  father  of  another  wo- 
man's children?  Rachael  suddenly  thought  of  Clar- 
ence. How  different  the  whole  thing  had  seemed  then  I 
Clarence's  pride,  Clarence's  child,  had  they  been  so 
hurt  as  her  pride  and  her  children  were  to  be  hurt 
now? 

She  must  not  allow  herself  to  be  so  easily  frightened. 
She  had  been  thinking  too  many  months  of  the  one 
thing;  she  could  not  see  it  fairly.  Why,  Magsie  had 
been  infinitely  more  dangerous  in  the  early  days  of 
her  success;  there  was  nothing  to  fear  from  the  simple, 
apprehensive  Magsie  of  this  afternoon!  The  only 
sensible  thing  was  to  stop  thinking  of  it,  and  to  go  to 
sleep.  But  Rachael  felt  sick  and  frightened,  experi- 
enced sensations  of  faintness,  sensations  like  hunger. 
Her  eyes  seemed  painfully  open,  she  could  not  shut 
them.  Her  breath  came  fitfully.  She  sighed,  turned 
on  her  side.  She  would  count  one  hundred,  breathing 
deep  and  with  closed  eyes.  "Sixteen,  seventeen!" 


292  THE  HEART  OF  RACIIAEL 

Rachael  sat  suddenly  erect,  and  looked  at  her  watch 
again.     Twenty-two  minutes  past  three. 

Morning  broke  with  wind  and  rain;  the  new  leaves 
in  the  square  were  tossing  wildly;  sleet  struck  noisily 
against  the  windows.  Rachael,  waking  exhausted, 
after  not  more  than  an  hour's  sleep,  went  through  the 
process  of  dressing  in  a  weary  daze.  The  boys,  as 
was  usual,  came  in  during  the  hour,  full  of  fresh  con- 
versation and  eager  to  discuss  plans  for  the  day.  Jim 
tied  strings  from  knob  to  knob  of  her  bureau  drawers, 
Derry  amused  himself  by  dashing  a  chain  of  glass 
beads  against  the  foot  of  the  bed  until  the  links  gave  and 
the  tiny  balls  rolled  in  every  direction  over  the  floor. 

"Never  mind,"  Rachael  consoled  the  discomfited 
junior,  "Pauline  will  come  in  and  pick  them  all  up. 
Mother  doesn't  care!" 

Derry,  however,  howled  on  unconsoled,  and  Rachael, 
stopping,  half-dressed,  to  take  him  in  her  arms,  mused 
while  she  kissed  him  over  the  tiny  sorrow  that  could 
so  convulse  him.  Was  she  no  more  than  a  howling 
baby  robbed  of  a  toy?  Nothing  could  be  more  real 
than  Derry's  sense  of  loss,  no  human  being  could  weep 
more  desolately  or  more  unreasonably.  Were  her 
love  and  her  life  no  more  than  a  string  of  baubles, 
scattered  and  flung  about  by  some  irresponsible  hand? 
Was  nothing  real  except  the  great  moving  sea  and  the 
arch  of  stars  above  the  spring  nights  ?  Life  and  death, 
and  laughter  and  tears,  how  unimportant  they  were! 
Eight  years  ago  she  had  felt  herself  to  be  unhappy; 
now  she  knew  that  in  those  days  she  had  known  neither 
sorrow  nor  joy.  Since  then,  what  an  ecstasy  of  ful- 
filled desire  had  been  hers!  She  had  lived  upon  the 
heights,  she  had  tasted  the  fullest  and  the  sweetest 
of  human  emotions.  What  other  woman — Cleopatra, 
Helen,  all  the  great  queens  of  countries  and  of  art — 
had  known  more  exquisite  delight  than  hers  had  been 
in  those  first  days  when  she  had  waited  for  Warren  to 
come  to  her  with  violets  ? 


THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL  293 

The  morning  went  on  like  an  ugly  dream.  At  nine 
o'clock  Rachael  sent  down  an  untouched  breakfast  tray. 
Mary  took  the  boys  out  into  the  struggling  sunshine. 
The  house  was  still. 

Rachael  lay  on  her  wide  couch,  staring  wretchedly 
into  space.  Her  head  ached.  The  moonfaced  clock 
struck  a  slow  ten,  the  hall  clock  downstairs  following 
it  with  a  brisk  silver  chime.  Vendors  in  the  square 
called  their  wares;  the  first  carts  of  potted  spring 
flowers  were  going  their  rounds. 

Shortly  after  ten  o'clock  she  heard  Warren  run  up- 
stairs and  into  his  room.  She  could  hear  his  voice  at 
the  telephone;  he  wanted  the  hospital — Doctor  Gregory 
wished  to  speak  to  Miss  Moore. 

Miss  Moore?  Doctor  Gregory  would  be  there  at 
eleven  .  .  .  please  have  everything  ready.  Miss  Moore, 
who  was  a  veteran  nurse  and  a  privileged  character, 
asked  some  question  as  to  the  Albany  case;  Warren 
•wearily  answered  that  the  patient  had  not  rallied; 
it  was  too  bad — too  bad. 

Once  it  would  have  been  Rachael's  delight  to  soothe 
him,  to  give  him  the  strong  coffee  he  needed  before 
eleven  o'clock,  to  ask  about  the  poor  Albany  man. 
Now  she  hardly  heard  him.  Beginning  to  tremble, 
she  sat  up,  her  heart  beating  fast. 

"Warren!"  she  called  in  a  shaken  voice. 

He  came  to  her  door  immediately,  and  they  faced 
each  other,  his  perfunctory  greeting  arrested  by  her  look. 

"Warren/5  said  Rachael  with  a  desperate  effort  at 
control,  "I  want  you  to  tell  me  about — about  you  and 
Magsie  Clay/; 

Instantly  his  face  darkened.  He  gazed  back  at  her 
steadily,  narrowing  his  eyes. 

"What  about  it?"  he  asked  sharply. 

Rachael  knew  that  she  was  growing  angry  against 
her  passionate  resolution  to  keep  the  conversation  in 
her  own  hands. 

"Magsie  came  to  see  me  yesterday/'  she  said,  pant- 
ing. 


294  THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL 

Had  she  touched  him?  She  could  not  tell.  There 
was  no  wavering  in  his  impassive  face. 

"What  about  it?"  he  asked  again  after  a  silence. 

His  wife  pushed  the  rich,  tumbled  hair  from  her  face 
with  a  wild  gesture,  as  if  she  fought  for  air. 

"What  about  it?"  she  echoed,  in  a  constrained  tone, 
still  with  that  quickened  shallow  breath.  "Do  you 
think  it  is  customary  for  a  girl  to  come  to  a  man's  wi%> 
and  tell  her  that  she  cares  for  him  ?  Do  you  think  it  is 
customary  for  a  man  to  have  tea  every  day  with  a  young 
actress  who  admits  she  is  in  love  with  him 

"I  don't  know  what  you're  talking  about!"  Warren 
said,  his  face  a  dull  red. 

"Do  you  mean  to  tell  me  that  you  don't  know  that 
Margaret  Clay  cares  for  you,"  Rachael  asked  in  rising 
anger,  "and  that  you  have  never  told  her  you  care  for 
her — that  you  and  she  have  never  talked  about  it, 
have  never  wished  that  you  were  free  to  belong  to  each 
other!" 

"You  will  make  yourself  ill!"  Warren  said  quietly, 
watching  her. 

His  tone  brought  Rachael  abruptly  to  her  senses. 
Fury  and  accusation  were  not  her  best  defence.  With 
Warren  calm  and  dignified  she  would  only  hurt  her 
claim  by  this  course.  In  a  second  she  was  herself 
again,  her  breath  grew  normal,  she  straightened  her 
hair,  and  with  a  brief  shrug  walked  slowly  from  the 
room  into  her  own  sitting-room  adjoining.  Following 
her,  Warren  found  her  looking  down  at  the  square 
from  the  window. 

"If  you  are  implying  anything  against  Magsie,  you 
are  merely  making  yourself  ridiculous,  Rachael,"  he 
said  nervously.  "Neither  Magsie  nor  I  have  for- 
gotten your  claim  for  a  single  instant.  If  she  came 
here  and  talked  to  you,  she  did  so  absolutely  without 
my  knowledge." 

"She  said  so,"  Rachael  admitted,  heart  and  mind  in 
a  whirl. 

"From   a   sense   of  protection — for  her,"   Warren 


THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL  295 

went  on,  "I  did  not  tell  you  how  much  we  have  come  to 
mean  to  each  other.  I  am  extremely — unwilling — to 
discuss  it  now.  There  is  nothing  to  be  said,  as  far  as 
I  am  concerned.  It  is  better  not  to  discuss  it;  we  shall 
not  agree.  That  Magsie  could  come  here  and  talk  to 
you  surprises  me.  I  naturally  don't  know  what  she 
said,  or  what  impression  she  gave  you.  I  would  only 
remind  you  that  she  is  young — and  unhappy."  He 
glanced  at  the  morning  paper  he  carried  in  his  hand 
with  an  air  of  casual  interest,  and  added  in  a  moderate 
undertone,  "It's  an  unhappy  business!" 

Rachael  stood  as  if  she  had  been  shot  through  the 
heart — motionless,  dumb.  She  felt  the  inward  physical 
convulsion  that  might  have  followed  an  actual  shot. 
Her  heart  seemed  to  be  struggling  under  a  choking 
flood,  and  black  circles  moved  before  her  eyes. 

Watching  her,  Warren  presently  began  to  enlarge 
upon  the  subject.  His  tone  was  that  of  frank  and  un- 
ashamed, if  regretful,  narrative.  Rachael  perceived, 
with  utter  stupefaction,  that  although  he  was  sorry, 
and  even  angry  at  being  drawn  into  this  talk,  he  was 
far  from  being  confused  or  ashamed. 

"I  am  sorry  for  this,  Rachael,"  he  began  in  the 
logical  tone  she  knew  so  well.  "I  think,  frankly,  that 
Magsie  made  a  mistake  in  coming  to  you.  The  situ- 
ation isn't  of  my  making.  Magsie,  being  a  woman, 
being  impulsive  and  impatient,  has  taken  the  law  into 
her  own  hands."  He  shrugged.  "She  may  have  been 
wise,  or  unwise,  I  can't  tell!" 

He  paused,  but  Rachael  did  not  speak  or  stir. 

Warren  had  rolled  up  the  paper,  and  now,  in  his 
pacing,  reaching  the  end  of  the  room,  he  turned,  and, 
thrusting  it  into  his  armpit,  came  back  with  folded 
arms. 

"Now  that  this  thing  has  come  up,"  he  said  in  a 
practical  tone,  "it  is  a  great  satisfaction  to  me  to  realize 
now  reasonable  a  woman  you  are.  I  want  you  to  know 
just  how  this  whole  thing  happened.  Magsie  has 
always  been  a  most  attractive  girl  to  me.  I  remember 


296  THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL 

her  in  Paris,  years  ago,  young,  and  with  a  pretty  little 
way  of  turning  her  head,  and  effective  eyes." 

"I  know  all  this,  Warren!"  Rachael  said  wearily. 

"I  know  you  do.  But  let  me  recapitulate  it,"  he 
said,  resuming  in  a  businesslike  voice:  "When  I 
met  her  at  Hoyt's  wedding  I  knew  right  away  that  we 
had  a  personality  to  deal  with — something  rare!  I 
remember  thinking  then  that  it  would  be  interesting 
to  see  whom  she  cared  for,  what  that  volcanic  little 

heart  would  be  in  love Time  went  on;  we  saw 

more  of  her.  I  met  her,  now  and  then,  we  had  the 
theatricals,  and  the  California  trip.  One  day,  that 
fall,  in  the  Park,  I  took  her  for  a  drive,  innocently 
enough,  nothing  prearranged.  And  I  remember  ask- 
ing if  any  lucky  man  had  made  an  impression  upon 
her." 

Warren  smiled,  his  eyes  absent.  Rachael's  look  of 
superb  scorn  was  wasted. 

"It  came  to  me  in  a  flash,"  he  went  on,  "that  Magsie 
had  come  to  care  for  me.  Poor  little  Magsie,  she 
hadn't  meant  to,  she  hadn't  seen  it  coming.  I  re- 
member her  looking  up  at  me — she  didn't  have  to  say 
a  word.  'I'm  sorry,  Magsie/  I  said.  That  was  all. 
The  touching  thing  was  that  even  in  that  trouble  she 
turned  to  me.  We  talked  it  over,,  I  took  her  back  to 
her  hotel,  and  very  simply  she  said,  'Kiss  me,  once, 
Greg,  and  I'll  be  good!'  After  that  I  didn't  see  her  for 
a  long,  long  time. 

"It  seemed  to  me  a  sacred  charge — you  can  see  that. 
I  couldn't  doubt  it,  the  evidence  was  right  there  before 
my  eyes,  and  thinking  it  over,  I  couldn't  be  much 
surprised.  We  were  in  the  fix,  and  of  course  there  was 
nothing  to  be  done.  She  went  away  and  that  was  the 
end  of  it,  then.  But  when  I  saw  her  again  last  winter 
the  whole  miserable  business  came  up.  The  rest,  of 
course,  she  told  you.  She  is  unhappy  and  rebellious, 
or  she  would  never  have  dared  to  come  to  you!  I  can't 
understand  her  doing  so,  now,  for  Magsie  is  a  good  little 
sport,  Rachael;  she  knows  you  have  the  right  of  way. 


THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL  297 

The  affair  has  always  been  with  that  understanding. 
However  much  I  feel  for  Magsie,  and  regret  the  whole 
thing — why,  I  am  not  a  cad!"  He  struck  her  to  her 
heart  with  his  friendly  smile.  "You  brought  the  sub- 
ject up;  I  don't  care  to  discuss  it,"  he  said.  "I  don't 
question  your  actions,  and  all  I  ask  is  that  you  will  not 
question  mine!" 

"Perhaps — the  world — may  some  day  question  them, 
Warren!"  Rachael  tried  to  speak  quietly,  but  she  was 
beginning  to  be  frightened  at  her  own  violence.  She 
shook  with  actual  chill,  her  mouth  was  dry  and  her 
cheeks  blazing. 

"The  world?"  He  shrugged.  "I  can  hardly  see 
that  it  is  the  world's  business  that  you  go  your  way  and 
I  go  mine!"  he  said  reasonably.  He  glanced  at  his 
watch.  "Perhaps  you  will  be  so  good  as  to  say  no 
more  about  it?"  he  suggested.  "I  have  no  time,  now, 
anyway.  Marriage 

"Warren!"  Rachael  interrupted  hoarsely.  She 
stopped. 

"Marriage,"  he  went  on,  "never  stands  still!  A 
man  and  woman  are  growing  nearer  together  hourly, 
or  they  are  growing  apart.  There  is  no  need,  between 
reasonable  beings,  for  recriminations  and  bitterness. 
A  man  is  only  a  man,  after  all,  and  if  I  have  been  carried 
off  my  feet  by  Magsie — as  I  admit  I  have  been — why, 
such  things  have  happened  before!  When  she  and 
my  wife — who  might  have  protected  my  dignity — 
meet  to  discuss  the  question  of  their  feelings,  and  their 
rights,  then  I  confess  that  I  am  beyond  my  depth." 

He  took  a  deep  chair  and  sat  back,  his  knees  crossed, 
his  elbow  on  the  chair  arm,  his  chin  resting  on  his  hand, 
as  one  conscious  of  scoring  a  point. 

"And  what  about  the  boys'  feelings  and  rights?" 
Rachael  said  in  a  low,  tense  tone. 

"There  you  are!';  Warren  exclaimed.  "It's  all 
absurd  on  the  face  of  it — the  whole  tangle!" 

His  wife  looked  at  him  in  grave,  dispassionate 
scrutiny.  Of  what  was  he  made,  this  handsome,  well- 


298  THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL 

groomed  man  of  forty-eight?  What  fatal  infection 
had  poisoned  heart  and  brain?  She  saw  him  this 
morning  as  a  stranger,  and  as  a  most  repellent 
stranger. 

"But  it  is  a  tangle  in  which  one  still  sees  right  and 
wrong,  Warren,"  she  said,  desperately  struggling  for 
calm.  "Human  relationships  can't  be  discussed  as 
if  they  were  the  moves  on  a  chess-board.  I  make  no 
claim  for  myself — the  time  has  gone  by  when  I  could 
do  so — but  there  is  honor  and  decency  in  the  world, 
there  is  simple  uprightness!  Your  attentions,  as  a 
married  man,  can  only  do  Magsie  harm,  and  your 
daring" — suddenly  she  began  restlessly  to  pace  the 
floor  as  he  had  done — "your  daring  in  coming  here  to 
me,  to  tell  me  that  any  other  woman  has  a  claim  on 
you,"  she  said,  beginning  to  breathe  violently,  "only 
shows  me  how  blind,  how  drugged  you  are  with — I 
don't  know  what  to  call  it — with  your  own  utter  law- 
lessness! What  right  has  Margaret  Clay  compared  to 
my  right?  Are  my  claims,  and  my  sons'  claims,  to  be 
swept  aside  because  a  little  idle  girl  of  Magsie's  age 
chooses  to  flirt  with  my  husband?  What  is  marriage, 
anyway — what  is  parenthood?  Are  you  mad,  Warren, 
that  you  can  come  here  to  our  home  and  talk  of  *  tan- 
gles'— and  rights?  Do  you  think  I  am  going  to  argue 
it  with  you,  going  to  belittle  my  own  position  by  ad- 
mitting, for  one  second,  that  it  is  open  to  question  ? " 

She  flashed  him  one  blazing  look,  then  resumed  her 
walking  and  her  angry  rush  of  words. 

"Why,  if  some  four-year-old  child  came  in  here  and 
began  to  contend  for  Derry's  place,"  Rachael  asked 
passionately,  "how  long  would  we  seriously  consider 
his  right?  If  I  must  dispute  the  title  of  Magsie  Clay 
this  year,  why  not  of  Jennie  Jones  next  year,  of  Polly 
Smith  the  year  after  that?  If " 

"Now  you  are  talking  recklessly,"  Warren  Gregory 
said  quietly,  "and  you  have  entirely  lost  sight  of  the 
point  at  issue.  Nobody  is  attempting  a  controversy 
with  you." 


THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL  299 

The  cool,  analytical  voice  robbed  Rachael  of  all  her 
fire.  She  sat  down,  and  was  silent. 

"What  you  say  is  quite  true,"  pursued  Warren,  "and 
of  course,  if  a  woman  chooses  to  stand  on  her  rights — 
if  it  becomes  a  question  of  legal  obligation 

"Warren!     When  was  our  marriage  that?" 

"I  don't  say  it  was  that!  I  am  protesting  because 
you  talk  of  rights  and  titles.  I  only  say  that  if  the 
problem  has  come  down  to  a  mere  question  of  what  is 
legal,  why,  that  in  itself  is  a  confession  of  failure!" 

"Failure!"  she  echoed  with  white  lips. 

"I  am  not  speaking  of  ourselves,  I  tell  you!"  he  said, 
annoyed.  "But  can  any  sane  person  in  these  days 
deny  that  when  a  man  and  woman  no  longer  pull  to- 
gether in  double  harness,  our  world  accepts  an  honor- 
able change?" 

Rachael  was  silent.  These  had  been  her  words 
eight  years  ago. 

"They  may  have  reasons  for  not  making  that  change," 
Warren  went  on  logically;  "they  may  prefer  to  go  on, 
as  thousands  of  people  do,  to  present  a  perfectly  smooth 
exterior  to  the  world.  But  don't  be  so  unfair  as  to 
assume  that  what  hundreds  of  good  and  reputable 
men  and  women  are  doing  every  day  is  essentially 
wrong!" 

"You  know  that  you  may  say  this — to  me,  Warren," 
she  said  with  a  leaden  heart. 

"Anybody  may  say  it  to  anybody!"  he  answered 
irritably.  "Tying  a  man  and  a  woman  together  doesn't 
necessarily  make  them " 

She  interrupted  with  a  quick,  breathless,  "Warren  !" 

"Well!"  Again  he  shrugged  his  shoulders  and  again 
glanced  at  his  watch.  "It  seems  to  me  that  you 
shouldn't  have  spoken  of  the  matter  if  you  were  not 
prepared  to  discuss  it!"  he  said. 

Rachael  felt  the  room  whirling.  She  could  neither 
see  nor  feel  anything  now  but  the  fury  that  possessed 
her.  Perhaps  twice  in  her  life  before,  never  with  him, 
had  she  so  given  way  to  anger. 


300  THE  HEART  OF  &ACHAEL 

"/  shouldn't  have  spoken  of  it,  Warren!"  she  echoed. 
"I  should  have  borne  it,  and  smiled,  and  said  nothing! 
Perhaps  I  should!  Perhaps  some  women  would  have 
done  that 

"Rachael!"  he  interrupted  quickly.  But  she  swept 
down  his  words  in  the  wild  tide  of  her  own. 

"Warren!"  she  said  with  deadly  decision,  "I'm  not 
that  sort  of  woman.  You've  had  your  fun — now 
it's  my  turn!  Now  it's  my  turn!"  Rachael  repeated 
in  a  voiceless  undertone  as  she  rapidly  paced  the  room. 
"Now  you  can  turn  to  the  world,  and  see  what  the  world 
thinks!  Let  them  know  how  often  you  and  Magsie 
have  been  together,  let  them  know  that  she  came 
here  to  ask  me  to  set  you  free,  and  then  see  what  the 
general  verdict  is!  I'm  not  going  to  hush  this  up,  to 
refrain  from  discussing  it  because  you  don't  care  to, 
because  it  hurts  your  feelings !  It  shall  be  discussed,  and 
you  shall  be  free!  You  shall  be  free,  and  if  you  choose 
to  put  Magsie  Clay  here  in  my  place,  you  may  do  so!' 

"Rachael!"  he  said  angrily.  And  he  caught  her 
thin  wrists  in  his  hands. 

"Don't  touch  me!"  she  said,  wrenching  herself  free. 
"Don't  touch  me,  you  cruel  and  wicked  and  heart- 
less  !  Go  to  Magsie!  Tell  her  that  I  sent  you  to 

her!  Take  your  hands  off  me,  Warren " 

Standing  back,  discomfited,  he  attempted  reason. 

"Rachael!  Don't  talk  so!  I  don't  know  what  to 
make  of  you!  Why,  I  never  saw  you  like  this.  I  never 
heard  you " 

The  door  of  her  room  closed  behind  her.  She  was 
gone.  A  long  silence  fell  in  the  troubled  room  where 
their  voices  had  warred  so  lately. 

Warren  looked  at  his  watch,  looked  at  her  door. 
Then  he  went  out  the  other  door,  and  downstairs,  and 
out  of  the  house.  Rachael  heard  him  go.  She  was 
still  breathing  fast,  still  blind  to  everything  but  her 
own  fury.  She  would  punish  him,  she  would  punish 
him.  He  should  have  his  verdict  from  the  world  he 
trusted  so  serenely;  he  should  have  his  Magsie. 


THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL  301 

The  clocks  struck  eleven:  first  the  slow  clock  in  her 
sitting-room,  then  the  quick  silvery  echo  from  down- 
stairs. Rachael  glanced  about  nervously.  The  Bank 
• — the  boys'  lunches — the  trunks 

She  went  downstairs.  In  the  little  breakfast-room 
off  the  big  dining-room  the  array  of  Warren's  breakfast 
waited.  Old  Mary,  with  the  boys,  had  just  come  in 
the  side  door. 

"Mary,"  Rachael  said  quickly,  "I  want  you  to  help 
me.  Pack  some  clothes  for  the  boys  and  me,  and  give 
them  some  luncheon.  We  are  going  down  to  Clark's 
Hills  on  the  two  o'clock  train " 

"My  God!  Mrs.  Gregory,  you  look  very  bad,  my 
dear!"  said  Mary. 

The  unconscious  endearment,  the  shock  and  con- 
cern visible  on  Mary's  homely,  honest  face  were  too 
much  for  Rachael.  Her  face  changed  to  ivory,  she 
put  one  hand  to  her  throat,  and  her  lips  quivered. 

"Help  me — some  coffee — Mary!"  she  whispered. 
" I  think— I'm  dying! '" 


BOOK*  III 


CHAPTER  I 

WARREN  went  to  the  hospital  and  performed  his 
operation.  It  was  a  long,  hard  strain  for  all  concerned, 
and  the  nurses  told  each  other  afterward  that  you  could 
see  Doctor  Gregory's  heart  was  in  it,  he  looked  as  bad 
as  the  child's  father  and  mother  did.  It  was  after 
one  o'clock  when  the  surgeons  got  out  of  their  white 
gowns,  and  Warren  was  in  the  cold,  watery  sunlight 
of  the  street  before  he  realized  that  he  had  had  nothing 
to  eat  since  his  dinner  in  Albany  last  night. 

He  looked  about  vaguely;  there  were  plenty  of 
places  all  about  where  he  could  get  a  meal.  He  saw 
Magsie 

Magsie  often  drove  about  in  hansom-cabs — they 
were  one  of  her  delights;  and  more  than  once  of  late 
she  had  come  to  meet  Warren  at  some  hospital,  or 
even  to  pick  him  up  at  the  club.  But  this  was  the  first 
time  that  she  had  done  so  without  prearrangement. 

She  leaned  out  of  the  cab,  a  picture  of  youth  and 
beauty,  and  waved  a  white  glove.  How  did  she  know 
he  was  in  here  ?  she  echoed  his  question.  He  had  written 
her  from  Albany  that  he  would  operate  at  Doctor 
Berry's  hospital  this  morning  she  reminded  him.  And 
where  was  he  going  now  ? 

"I'm  awfully  worried  this  morning,  honey-girl," 
said  Warren,  "and  I  can't  stop  to  play  with  nice  little 
Magsies  in  new  blue  dresses!  My  head  is  blazing,  and 
I  believe  I'll  go  home " 

"When  did  you  get  in,  and  where  did  you  have  break- 
fast?" she  asked  with  pretty  concern.  "Greg,  you've 
not  had  any?  Oh,  I  believe  he  hasn't  had  any!  And 
it's  after  one,  and  you've  been  operating!  Get  straight 
in " 

305 


306  THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL 

"No,  dear!"  he  smiled  as  she  moved  to  one  side  of 
the  seat,  and  packed  her  thin  skirts  neatly  under  her, 
"not  to-day!  Fll- 

" Warren  Gregory!"  said  Magsie  sternly,  "you  get 
right  straight  in  here,  and  come  and  have  your  break-* 
fast!  Now,  what's  nearest?  The  Biltmore!"  She 
poked  the  upper  door  with  her  slim  umbrella.  "To 
the  Biltmore!"  commanded  Magsie. 

At  a  quiet  table  Warren  had  coffee  and  eggs  and 
toast,  and  more  coffee,  and  finally  his  cigar.  The 
color  came  back  into  his  face,  and  he  looked  less  tired. 

Magsie  was  a  rather  simple  little  soul  under  her 
casing  of  Parisian  veneer,  and  was  often  innocently 
surprised  at  the  potency  of  her  own  charm.  That  men, 
big  men  and  wise  men,  were  inclined  to  take  her  artful 
artlessness  at  its  surface  value  was  a  continual  revela- 
tion to  her.  Like  Rachael,  she  had  gone  to  bed  the 
night  before  in  a  profoundly  thoughtful  frame  of  mind, 
a  little  apprehensive  as  to  Warren's  view  of  her  call, 
and  uneasy  as  to  the  state  in  which  she  had  left  his 
wife.  But,  unlike  Rachael,  Magsie  had  not  been 
wakeful  long.  The  consideration  of  other  people's 
attitudes  never  troubled  her  for  more  than  a  few  con- 
secutive minutes.  She  had  been  genuinely  stirred  by 
her  talk  that  afternoon,  and  was  honestly  determined 
to  become  Mrs.  Warren  Gregory;  but  these  feelings 
did  not  prevent  her  from  looking  back,  with  thrilled 
complacence,  to  the  scene  in  Rachael's  sitting-room, 
and  from  remembering  that  it  was  a  dramatic  and 
heroic  thing  for  a  slender,  pretty  girl  in  white  to  go  to 
a  man's  wife  and  plead  for  her  love.  "No  harm  done, 
anyway!"  Magsie  had  reflected  drowsily,  drifting  off 
to  sleep;  and  she  had  awakened  conscious  of  no  emo- 
tion stronger  than  a  mild  trepidation  at  the  possibility 
of  Warren's  wrath. 

Dainty  and  sweet,  she  came  to  meet  him  halfway, 
and  now  sat  congratulating  herself  that  he  was  soothed, 
fed,  and  placidly  smoking  before  their  conversation 
reached  deep  channels. 


THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL  307 

"Greg,  dear,  I've  got  a  horrible  confession  to  make!'5 
began  Magsie  when  this  propitious  moment  arrived. 

"You  mean  your  call  on  Rachael?"  he  asked  quickly, 
the  shadow  coming  back  to  his  eyes.  "Why  did  you 
do  it?" 

Magsie  was  conscious  of  being  frightened. 

"Was  she  surprised,  Greg?" 

"I  don't  know  that  she  was  surprised.  Of  course 
she  was  angry." 

"Well,"  Magsie  said,  widening  her  childish  eyes, 
"didn't  you  expect  her  to  be  angry?" 

"I  didn't  expect  her  to  take  any  attitude  what- 
ever," Warren  said  with  a  look  half  puzzled  and  half 
reproving. 

"Greg!"  Magsie  was  quite  honestly  astonished. 
"What  did  you  expect  her  to  do?  Give  you  a  divorce 
without  any  feeling  whatever?" 

There  was  no  misunderstanding  her.  For  a  full 
minute  Warren  stared  at  her  in  silence.  In  that  minute 
he  remembered  some  of  his  recent  talks  with  Magsie, 
some  of  his  notes  and  presents,  he  remembered  the 
plan  that  involved  a  desert  island,  sea-bathing,  moon- 
light, and  solitude. 

"I  think,  if  you  had  been  listening  to  us,"  Magsie 
went  on,  as  he  did  not  answer,  "you  could  not 
have  objected  to  one  word  I  said!  And  Rachael 
was  lovely,  Greg.  She  told  me  she  would  not  contest 
it " 

||Shetold-youlfatf?" 

"Well,  she  said  several  times  that  it  must  be  as  you 
decide."  Magsie  dimpled  demurely.  "And  I  was — 
nice,  too!"  she  asserted  youthfully.  "I  didn't  tell 
her  about  this — and  this!"  and  with  one  movement  of 
her  pretty  hand  Magsie  indicated  the  big  emerald  on 
her  ring  finger  and  the  heavy  bracelet  of  mesh  gold 
about  her  wrist.  Suddenly  her  face  brightened,  and 
with  an  eager  movement  she  leaned  across  the  narrow 
table,  and  caught  his  hand  in  both  her  own.  "Ah, 
Greg,"  she  said  tenderly,  "does  it  seem  true,  that  after 


308  THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL 

all  these  months  of  talking,  and  hoping,  you  and  T 
are  going  to  belong  to  each  other?" 

"But  I  have  no  idea  that  Rachael  is  seriously  con- 
sidering a  divorce,"  Warren  said  slowly.  "Why 
should  she?  She  has  no  cause!" 

"She  thinks  she  has!"  Magsie  said  triumphantly. 

"She  isn't  the  sort  of  woman  to  think  things  without 
reason,"  WTarren  said. 

"She  doesn't  have  to  think,"  Magsie  assured  him 
with  the  same  air  of  satisfaction;  "she  knows!  Every- 
one knows  how  much  you  and  I  have  been  together; 
everyone  knows  that  you  backed  'The  Bad  Little 
Lady' " 

"Everyone  has  no  right  to  draw  conclusions  from 
that!"  Warren  said. 

Magsie  shrugged  her  shoulders. 

"And  what  do  we  care,  Greg?  I  don't  care  what 
the  world  thinks  as  long  as  I  have  you!  Let  them 
have  the  letters,  let  them  buzz — we'll  be  miles  away, 
and  we  won't  care!  And  in  a  year  or  two,  Greg,  we'll 
come  back,  and  they'll  all  flock  about  us — you'll  see! 
That's  the  advantage  of  a  name  like  the  Gregory  name! 
Why,  who  among  them  all  dropped  Clarence  on  Paula's 
account,  or  Rachael  on  Clarence's?" 

"Your  going  to  see  her  has  certainly — complicated 
things,"  Warren  said  reflectively. 

"On  the  contrary,"  Magsie  said  confidently,  "it  has 
cleared  things  up.  It  had  to  come,  Greg;  every  time 
you  and  I  talked  about  it  we  brought  the  inevitable 
nearer!  Why,  you  weren't  ever  at  home.  Could  that 
have  gone  on  forever?  You  had  no  home,  no  wife,  no 
freedom.  I  was  simply  getting  sick  of  the  whole  thing! 
Now  at  least  we're  all  open  and  aboveboard;  all  we've 
got  to  do  is  quietly  set  the  wheels  in  motion!" 

"Well,  I'll  tell  you  what  must  be  the  first  step, 
Magsie,"  Warren  said  after  thought;  "I'm  going  home 
now  to  see  Rachael.  I'll  talk  the  whole  thing  over 
with  her.  Then  I'll  come  to  see  you." 

"Positively?"  asked  Magsie. 


THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL  309 

"Positively." 

"You  won't  just  telephone  that  you're  delayed, 
Greg,  and  leave  me  to  wonder  and  worry?"  the  girl 
asked  wistfully.  "I'll  wait  until  any  hour!"  He 
looked  at  her  kindly,  with  a  gentleness  of  aspect  new 
in  their  relationship. 

"No,  dear.  It's  nearly  three  now.  I'll  come  take 
you  to  tea  at,  say,  half-past  four.  I  am  operating 
again  to-night,  at  nine,  and  some  time  I've  got  to  get 
in  a  bath  and  some  sleep.  But  there'll  be  time  for 


tea." 


Magsie  chattered  gayly,  but  Warren  was  almost 
silent  as  they  gathered  together  their  belongings,  and 
went  out  to  the  street.  He  called  her  another  cab  and 
beckoned  to  the  man  who  was  waiting  with  his  own  car. 

"In  a  few  months,  perhaps,"  said  Magsie  at  part- 
ing, "when  he's  all  tired  and  cross,  I'll  make  him  coffee 
at  home,  and  see  that  he  gets  his  rest  and  quiet  whenever 
he  needs  it!" 

She  did  not  like  his  answer. 

"  Rachael's  a  wonder  at  that  sort  of  thing,"  he  said. 
Magsie  had  not  heard  him  speak  so  of  his  wife  for 
months.  "In  fact,  she  spoils  me,"  he  added. 

"Spoils  you  by  leaving  you  alone  in  this  hot  town 
for  six  months  out  of  every  year?"  Magsie  laughed 
lightly.  "Good-bye,  dear!  At  half-past  four?" 

But  even  while  he  nodded  Warren  Gregory  was  re- 
solving, in  his  soul,  that  he  must  never  see  Magsie 
Clay  again.  His  world  was  strange  and  alarming; 
was  falling  to  pieces  about  him.  He  was  thirsting  for 
Rachael:  her  voice,  her  reproaches,  her  forgiveness. 
In  seven  minutes  he  would  be  at  home  talking  to  his 
wife 

Dennison  reported,  with  an  impassive  face,  that  Mrs. 
Gregory  had  left  two  hours  ago  with  the  children.  He 
believed  that  they  were  gone  to  the  Long  Island  house, 
sir.  Warren,  stupefied,  went  slowly  upstairs  to  have 
the  news  confirmed  by  Pauline.  Mrs.  Gregory  had 
taken  Mary  and  Millie,  sir.  And  there  was  a  note. 


310  THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL 

Of  course  there  was  a  note.  To  emotion  like  Rachael's 
emotion  silence  was  the  only  unthinkable  thing.  She 
had  planned  a  dozen  notes,  written  perhaps  five.  The 
one  she  left  was  brief: 

MY  DEAR  WARREN:  I  am  leaving  with  the  children 
for  Clark's  Hills.  You  will  know  best  what  steps  to  take  in 
the  matter  of  the  freedom  you  desire.  I  will  cooperate  in 
any  way.  I  have  written  Magsie  that  I  will  not  contest 
your  divorce.  If  for  any  reason  you  come  to  Clark's  Hills, 
I  will  of  course  be  obliged  to  see  you.  I  ask  you  not  to  come. 
Please  spare  me  another  such  talk  as  ours  this  morning.  I 
have  plenty  of  money. 

Always  faithfully,  R.  G. 

Warren  read  it,  and  stood  in  the  middle  of  her  bed- 
room with  the  sheet  crushed  in  his  hand.  Pauline 
had  put  the  empty  room  in  order — in  terrible  and  des- 
olate order.  Usually  there  were  flowers  in  the  jars 
and  glass  bowls,  a  doll's  chair  by  the  bed,  and  a  woolly 
animal  seated  in  the  chair;  a  dainty  litter  of  lace 
scattered  on  Rachael's  sewing-table.  Usually  she  was 
there  when  he  came  in  tired,  to  look  up  beautiful  and 
concerned:  "Something  to  eat,  dear,  or  are  you  going 
to  lie  down?" 

Standing  here  with  the  note  that  ended  it  all  in  his 
hand,  he  wondered  if  he  was  the  same  man  who  had 
so  often  met  that  inquiry  with  an  impatient:  "Just 
please  don't  bother  me,  dear!"  Who  had  met  the  suc- 
ceeding question  with,  "I  don't  know  whether  I  shall 
dine  here  or  not!" 

It  was  half-past  three.  In  an  hour  he  would  see 
Magsie. 

In  that  hour  Magsie  had  received  Rachael's  note, 
and  her  heart  sang.  For  the  first  time,  in  what  she 
Would  have  described  as  this  "funny,  mixed-up  busi- 
ness," she  began  seriously  to  contemplate  her  elevation 
to  the  dignity  of  Warren  Gregory's  wife.  Rachael's 
note  was  capable  of  only  one  interpretation:  she  would 


THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL  311 

no  longer  stand  in  their  way.  She  was  taking  the  boys 
to  the  country,  and  had  given  Warren  the  definite 
assurance  of  her  agreement  to  his  divorce.  If  necessary, 
on  condition  that  her  claim  to  the  children  was  granted, 
she  would  establish  her  residence  in  some  Western  city, 
and  proceed  with  the  legal  steps  from  there. 

Magsie  was  frightened,  excited,  and  thrilled  all  at 
once.  She  felt  as  if  she  had  set  some  enormous  ma- 
chinery in  motion,  and  was  not  quite  sure  of  how  it 
might  be  controlled.  But  on  the  whole,  complacency 
underlay  all  other  emotions.  She  was  going  to  be 
married  to  the  richest  and  nicest  and  most  important 
man  of  her  acquaintance! 

At  heart,  however,  her  manner  belied  her;  Magsie 
had  little  self-confidence.  She  lived  in  a  French  girl's 
terror  that  youth  would  leave  her  before  she  had  time 
to  make  a  good  match.  If  nobody  knew  better  than 
Magsie  that  she  was  pretty,  also  nobody  knew  better 
that  she  was  not  clever.  Men  tired  of  her  dimples 
and  giggles  and  round  eyes.  Bryan  Masters  admired 
her,  to  be  sure,  but  then  Bryan  Masters  was  also  a 
divorced  man,  and  an  actor  whose  popularity  was  al- 
ready on  the  wane.  Richie  Gardiner  admired  her  in 
his  pathetic,  hopeless  way,  and  Richie  was  young  and 
rich.  But  Magsie  shuddered  away  from  Richie's 
coughing  and  fainting;  his  tonics  and  his  diet  had  no 
place  in  her  robust  and  joyous  scheme  of  life.  Besides, 
all  Magsie's  world  would  envy  her  capture  of  Greg; 
he  belonged  to  New  York.  And  Richie's  father  had 
been  a  miner,  and  his  mother  was  "impossible!" 

Magsie  dressed  exquisitely  for  the  tea;  it  seemed  to 
her  that  she  had  never  been  so  pleasantly  excited  in 
her  life.  She  felt  a  part  of  the  humming,  crowded  city, 
the  spring  wind  and  the  uncertain  sky.  Life  was 
thrilling  and  surprising. 

Half-past  four  o'clock  came,  and  Warren  came. 
They  were  in  Magsie's  little  apartment  now,  and  she 
could  go  into  his  arms.  Warren  was  rather  quiet  as 
they  went  out  to  tea,  but  Magsie  did  not  notice  it. 


312  THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL 

As  a  matter  of  fact,  the  man  was  bewildered;  he 
was  tired  and  worried  about  his  work;  but  that  was 
the  least  of  it.  He  could  not  believe  that  the  day's 
dazing  and  flying  memories  were  real — the  Albany 
train,  Rachael's  room,  the  hospital,  Magsie  and  the 
Biltmore  breakfast-room,  Rachael's  room  again,  and 
now  again  Magsie. 

Were  the  lawsuits  about  which  one  read  in  the  papers 
based  on  no  more  than  this  ?  Apparently  not.  Magsie 
seemed  perfectly  confident  of  the  outcome;  Rachael 
had  not  shown  any  doubt.  One  woman  had  practically 
presented  him  to  the  other;  the  law  was  to  be  con- 
sulted. 

The  law?  How  would  those  letters  of  Magsie's 
read  if  the  law  got  hold  of  them?  His  memory  flew 
from  note  to  note.  These  hastily  scratched  words 
would  be  flung  to  the  wind  of  gossip,  that  wind  that 
blew  so  merrily  among  the  houses  where  he  was  known. 
He  had  called  Magsie  his  "wonder-child  "  and  his  "good 
little  bad  girl!"  He  had  given  her  rings  and  sashes 
and  a  gold  purse  and  a  hat  and  white  fox  furs — any  one 
gift  he  had  made  her  was  innocent  enough  in  itself! 
But  taken  with  all  the  others 

Magsie  was  in  high  feather;  some  tiresome  pre- 
liminaries, and  the  day  was  won!  She  had  not  planned 
so  definite  a  campaign,  but  it  was  all  coming  about 
in  a  fashion  that  more  than  fulfilled  her  plans.  So, 
said  Magsie  to  herself,  stirring  her  tea,  that  was  to  be 
her  fate:  Paris,  America,  the  stage,  and  then  a  rich 
marriage?  Well,  so  be  it.  She  could  not  complain, 

"Greg,"  she  said  a  dozen  times,  "isn't  it  all  like  a 
aream?" 

To  Warren  Gregory,  as  he  walked  down  the  street 
after  leaving  her  at  the  theatre,  it  was  indeed  like  a 
dream,  a  frightful  dream.  He  could  hardly  credit  his 
senses,  hardly  believe  that  all  these  horrible  things 
were  true,  that  Rachael  knew  all  about  Magsie,  and 
that  Magsie  was  quietly  thinking  of  divorce  and  mar- 


THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL  313 

riage!  Rachael,  in  such  a  rage,  rushing  away  with  the 
boys — why,  he  had  made  no  secret  of  his  admiration 
for  Magsie  from  Rachael,  he  had  often  talked  to  her 
enthusiastically  of  Magsie!  And  here  she  was  furi- 
ously offering  him  his  freedom. 

Well,  what  had  he  done  after  all?  What  a  prepos-. 
terous  fuss  about  nothing.  His  thoughts  were  checked 
and  chilled  by  the  memory  of  letters  that  Magsie  had. 
Magsie  could  prove  nothing  by  those  letters 

But  what  a  fool  they  would  make  him!  Warren 
Gregory  remembered  the  case  of  a  dignified  college 
professor  whose  private  correspondence  had  recently 
been  given  to  the  press,  and  he  felt  a  cool  shudder  run 
down  his  spine.  Rachael,  reading  those  letters!  It 
was  unthinkable!  She  and  the  world  would  think  him 
a  fool!  It  came  to  him  suddenly  that  she  and  the 
world  would  be  right.  He  was  a  fool,  and  it  was  a 
fool's  paradise  in  which  he  had  been  wandering:  to 
take  his  wife  and  home  and  sons  for  granted,  and  to 
spend  all  his  leisure  at  the  feet  of  a  calculating  little 
gill  like  Magsie! 

"What  did  you  expect  her  to  do?"  Magsie  had 
asked.  What  would  any  sane  man  expect  her  to  do? 
Smile  with  him  at  the  new  favorite's  charms,  and  take 
up  her  life  in  loneliness  and  neglect? 

And  now,  Rachael  was  gone,  and  he  stood  promised 
to  Magsie.  So  much  was  clear.  Rachael  would  fight 
for  her  divorce.  Magsie  would  fight  for  her  husband. 

"Oh,  my  God,  how  did  we  ever  get  into  this  sicken- 
ing, sickening  mess  ? "  Warren  said  out  loud  in  his  misery. 

He  had  not  dined,  he  did  not  think  of  dinner  as  he 
paced  the  windy,  cool  city  streets  hour  after  hour. 
Nine  struck,  and  he  hailed  a  cab,  and  went  to  the 
hospital,  moving  through  his  work  like  a  man  in  a 
dream.  The  woman  whose  life  he  chanced  to  save 
throughout  all  her  days  would  say  she  had  had  a  lovely 
doctor.  Warren  hardly  saw  her.  He  thought  only 
of  Magsie,  Magsie  who  had  in  her  possession  a  number 
of  compromising  letters,  every  one  sillier  than  the 


314  THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL 

last — Magsie,  who  expected  him  to  divorce  his  wife 
and  marry  her.  He  was  in  such  a  state  of  terror 
that  he  could  not  think.  Every  instant  brought 
more  disquiet  to  his  thoughts;  he  felt  as  if,  when  he 
stepped  out  into  the  street  again,  the  newsboys  might 
be  calling  his  divorce,  as  if  honor  and  safety  and  happi- 
ness were  gone  forever. 

He  did  not  see  Magsie  again  that  night,  but  walked 
and  walked,  entering  his  house  sick  and  haggard,  and 
sleeping  the  hours  restlessly  away. 

At  nine  o'clock  the  next  morning  he  went  to  the 
telephone,  and  called  the  Valentine  house.  Doctor 
Valentine  was  not  at  home,  he  was  informed.  Was  Mrs. 
Valentine  there?  Would  she  speak  to  Doctor  Gregory? 

A  long  pause.  Then  the  maid's  pleasant  impersonal 
voice  again.  Mrs.  Valentine  begged  Doctor  Gregory 
to  excuse  her. 

Warren  felt  as  if  he  had  been  struck  in  the  face. 
Under  the  eyes  of  irreproachable  and  voiceless  servants 
he  moved  about  his  silent  house.  The  hush  of  death 
seemed  to  him  to  lie  heavy  in  the  lovely  rooms  that 
had  been  Rachael's  delight,  and  over  the  city  that  was 
just  breaking  into  the  green  of  spring.  He  dresseds 
and  left  directions  with  unusual  sternness;  he  would  bt 
at  the  hospital,  or  the  club,  if  he  was  wanted.  He> 
would  come  home  to  dinner  at  seven. 

"Mrs.  Gregory  may  be  back  in  a  day  or  so,  Pauline/ 
he  said.  "I  wish  you'd  keep  her  rooms  in  order-- 
flowers, and  all  that." 

"Yes,  sir,"  Pauline  said  respectfully.  "Excuse  me, 
Doctor—  "  she  added. 

"Well?"  said  Warren  as  she  paused. 

"Excuse  me,  Doctor,  but  I  telephoned  Mrs.  Prince 
yesterday,  as  Mrs.  Gregory  suggested,"  Pauline  went 
on  timidly,  "and  she  would  be  glad  to  have  me  come 
at  any  time,  sir." 

Warren's  expression  did  not  change. 

"You  mean  that  Mrs.  Gregory  dismissed  you?"  he 
suggested. 


THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL  315 

"Yes,  sir!"  said  Pauline  with  a  sniff.  "She  paid 
me  for- 

"Then  I  should  make  an  arrangement  with  Mrs. 
Prince,  by  all  means!". Warren  said  evenly.  But  a 
deathlike  terror  convulsed  his  heart.  Rachael  had 
burned  her  bridges! 

He  sent  Magsie  a  note  and  flowers.  He  was  "trou- 
bled by  unexpected  developments,"  he  said,  and  too 
busy  to  see  her  to-day,  but  he  would  see  her  to-rnorrow. 


CHAPTER  II 

MAGSIE  had  awakened  to  a  sense  of  pleasure  im- 
pending. It  was  many  months  since  she  had  felt  so 
important  and  so  sure  of  herself.  Her  self-esteem 
had  received  more  than  one  blow  of  late.  Bowman 
had  attempted  to  persuade  her  to  take  "The  Bad  Little 
Lady"  on  the  road;  Magsie  had  indignantly  declined. 
He  had  then  offered  her  a  poor  part  in  a  summer  farce; 
about  this  Magsie  had  not  yet  made  up  her  mind. 

Now,  she  said  to  herself,  reading  Warren's  note  over 
her  late  breakfast  tray,  perhaps  she  might  treat  Mr. 
Bowman  to  the  snubbing  she  had  long  been  anxious 
to  give  him.  Perhaps  she  might  spend  the  summer 
quietly,  inconspicuously,  somewhere,  placidly  await- 
ing the  hour  when  she  would  come  out  gloriously  before 
the  world  as  Warren  Gregory's  wife.  Not  at  all  a  bad 
prospect  for  the  daughter  of  old  Mrs.  Torrence's  com- 
panion and  housekeeper. 

A  caller  was  announced  and  was  admitted,  a  thin, 
restless  woman  who  looked  thirty-five  despite  or  per- 
haps because  of  the  rouge  on  her  sunken  cheeks  and 
the  smart  gown  she  wore.  The  years  had  not  treated 
Carol  Pickering  kindly:  she  was  an  embittered,  dis- 
satisfied woman  now,  noisily  interested  in  the  stage  as  a 
possible  escape  from  matrimony  for  herself,  and  hence 
interested  in  Magsie,  with  whom  she  had  lately  formed 
a  sort  of  suspicious  and  resentful  intimacy. 

Joe  Pickering  had  entirely  justified  in  eight  years 
the  misgivings  felt  toward  him  by  everyone  who  had 
Carol  Breckenridge's  interests  at  heart.  His  wife  had 
come  to  him  rich,  and  a  few  hours  after  their  wed- 
ding her  father's  death  had  more  than  doubled  the 
fortune  left  her  by  her  grandmother.  But  it  would  be 


THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL  317 

a  sturdy  legacy  indeed  that  might  hope  to  resist  such 
inroads  as  the  aimless  and  ill-matched  young  couple 
made  upon  it  from  their  first  day  together. 

Idly  acquiring,  idly  losing,  being  cheated  and  robbed 
on  all  sides,  they  drifted  through  an  unhappy  and  ex- 
citing year  or  two,  finally  investing  much  of  their 
money  in  bonds,  and  a  handsome  residue  in  that  fa- 
vorite dream  of  such  young  wasters:  the  breeding  of 
horses  for  the  polo  market.  "What  if  we  lose  it  all — 
which  we  won't — we've  still  got  the  bonds!"  Joe  Pick- 
ering, leaden  pockets  under  his  eyes,  his  weak  lips 
hanging  loose,  had  said  with  his  unsteady  laugh. 
What  inevitably  followed,  and  what  he  had  not  fore- 
seen, was  that  he  should  lose  more  than  half  the  bonds, 
too.  They  were  seriously  crippled  now,  and  began  to 
quarrel,  to  hate  each  other  for  a  greater  part  of  the 
time;  and  their  little  son's  handsome  dark  eyes  fell 
on  some  sad  scenes.  But  now,  in  the  child's  sixth 
year,  they  were  still  together,  still  appearing  in  public, 
and  still,  in  that  mysterious  way  known  only  to  their 
type,  rushing  about  on  motor  parties,  buying  cham- 
pagne, and  entertaining  after  a  fashion  in  their  cramped 
but  pretentious  apartment. 

Of  late  Billy  had  been  seriously  considering  the 
stage.  She  was  but  twenty-six,  after  all,  and  she  still 
had  a  girl's  thirst  for  admiration  and  for  excitement. 
She  had  called  on  Magsie,  entertained  the  young 
actress,  and  the  two  had  discovered  a  certain  affinity. 
Magsie  was  delighted  to  see  her  now.  They  greeted 
each  other  affectionately,  and  Magsie,  sending  out 
her  tray,  settled  herself  comfortably  in  her  pillows,  and 
took  the  interested  Carol  entirely  into  her  confidence, 
with  the  single  reservation  of  Warren  Gregory's  name. 

"Handsome,  and  rich  as  Croesus,  and  his  wife 
would  divorce  him,  and  belongs  to  one  of  the  best 
families,"  summarized  Billy.  "Why,  I  think  you 
would  be  a  fool  to  do  anything  else!" 

"S'pose  I  would,"  dimpled  Magsie  in  interesting 
embarrassment. 


318  THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL 

"Have  a  heart,  and  tell  me  who  it  is,"  teased  Carol, 
slipping  her  foot  from  her  low  shoe  to  study  a  hole  in 
the  heel  of  her  silk  stocking. 

"Oh,  I  couldn't!"  Magsie  protested. 

"Well,  I  shall  guess,  if  I  can,"  the  other  woman 
warned  her.  And  presently  she  added:  "I'll  tell  you 
what,  if  you  do  give  it  up,  I'm  going  straight  to  Bow- 
man, and  ask  for  your  place  in  your  new  show!  There's 
nothing  about  it  that  I  couldn't  do,  and  I  believe  he 
might  give  me  a  chance!  I'll  tell  you  what:  you  wait 
until  the  last  moment  before  you  tell  him,  and  then  he 
can't  be  prepared  in  advance.  And  I'll  risk  having 
Jacqueline  make  me  a  couple  of  gowns,  and  be  all  ready 
to  jump  in.  I'll  learn  the  part,  too,"  said  Billy  kin- 
dling; "you'll  coach  me  in  it,  won't  you  ? " 

"Of  course  I  will!"  Magsie  agreed,  but  she  did  not 
say  it  heartily.  The  conversation  was  not  extremely 
pleasing  to  Magsie  at  the  moment.  She  loved  Warren, 
of  course,  but  it  was  certainly  a  good  deal  to  resign, 
even  to  marry  a  Gregory  of  New  York!  Why,  here 
was  Billy,  who  had  been  a  rich  man's  daughter,  and 
had  married  the  man  of  her  choice,  and  had  a  nice  child, 
mad  to  step  into  her  shoes! 

And  it  was  a  painful  reflection  that  probably  Billy 
could  do  it.  Billy  was  smart,  she  had  a  dash  and 
finish  about  her  that  might  well  catch  a  manager's  eye, 
and  more  than  that,  it  was  a  rather  poor  part.  It  was 
no  such  part  as  Magsie  had  had  in  "The  Bad  Little 
Lady."  There  was  a  comedian  in  this  cast,  and  .  a 
matinee  idol  for  a  leading  man,  and  Magsie  must  con- 
tent herself  with  a  part  and  a  salary  much  smaller  than 
was  given  to  either  of  these. 

She  thought  of  Warren,  and  also  fleetingly  of  Bryan 
Masters,  and  even  of  Richie  Gardiner,  and  decided 
that  it  was  a  bitter  and  empty  world,  and  she  wished 
she  had  never  been  born.  Bowman  would  be  smart 
enough  to  see  that  he  need  pay  Billy  almost  no  salary, 
that  she  might  be  a  discovery — the  discovery  for  which 
all  managers  are  always  so  pathetically  on  the  alert* 


THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL  319 

and  that  in  case  the  play  failed — Magsie  was  sure,  this 
morning,  that  it  would  be  the  flattest  failure  ever  seen 
on  Broadway — he  would  have  no  irate  leading  lady  to 
pacify;  Billy  would  be  only  too  grateful  for  the  op- 
portunity to  try  and  fail. 

"Farce  is  the  most  difficult  thing  in  the  world  to 
play,"  she  said,  now  clinging  desperately  to  her  little 
distinction. 

"Oh,  I  know  that!"  Billy  answered  absently.  She 
would  have  a  smart  apartment  on  the  Drive,  and  dear 
little  old  Breck  should  drive  with  her  in  the  Park,  and 
go  to  the  smartest  boys'  school  in  the  country— 

"And  of  course,  I  may  not  marry!"  said  Magsie. 

Carol  hardly  heard  her.  She  was  looking  about  the 
comfortable  hotel  apartment,  all  in  a  pretty  disorder 
now,  with  Magsie's  various  possessions  scattered  about. 
There  were  pictures  of  actors  on  the  mantel,  heavily 
autographed,  and  flowers  thrust  carelessly  into  vases. 
There  was  a  great  sheaf  of  Killarney  roses ;  the  envelope 
that  had  held  a  card  still  dangled  from  their  stems. 
Carol  would  have  given  a  great  deal  to  know  whose 
card  had  been  torn  from  it,  and  whose  name  was  ring- 
ing just  now  in  Magsie's  brain.  She  even  cared  enough 
to  tentatively  interrogate  Anna,  Magsie's  faithful 
Swedish  woman. 

"Well,  perhaps  we  shall  have  a  change  here,  Anna?' 
Billy  said  brightly  but  cautiously,  when  she  was  in  the 
hall.     She  wondered  whether  the  woman  would   let 
her  slip  a  bill  into  her  hand. 

"Maybe,"  said  Anna  impassively. 

"How  shall  you  like  keeping  house  for  a  man  and 
wife?"  Billy  pursued. 

"Aye  do  that  bayfore,"  remarked  Anna,  responsive 
to  this  kindly  interest;  "aye  ban  hahr  savan  yahre, 
now,  en  des  country." 

"And  do  you  like  Miss  Clay's  young  man?"  Billy 
said  boldly.  But  at  this  shift  of  topic  the  light  faded 
from  Anna's  infantile  blue  eyes,  and  a  wary  look  re- 
placed it. 


820  THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL 

"She  got  more  as  one  feller,"  she  remarked  discour- 
agingly.  Billy,  outfaced,  departed,  feeling  rather  con- 
temptible as  she  walked  down  the  street.  Joe  was  at 
home;  she  had  left  him  in  bed  when  she  left  the  house 
at  ten  o'clock,  and  little  Breck  had  been  rather  list- 
lessly chatting  with  the  colored  boy  in  the  elevator, 
and  had  begged  his  mother  to  take  him  downtown. 
Billy  was  really  sorry  for  the  little  boy,  but  she  did 
not  know  what  to  do  about  it;  she  wondered  what 
•Dther  women  did  with  little  lonely  boys  of  six.  If  she 
went  home,  it  would  not  materially  better  the  situation; 
the  cook  was  cross  to-day  anyway,  and  would  be  crosser 
if  Joe  shouted  for  his  breakfast  in  his  usual  ungracious 
manner.  She  could  not  go  to  Jacqueline  and  talk 
dresses  unless  she  was  willing  to  pay  something  on 
the  last  bill. 

Billy  thought  of  the  bank,  as  she  always  did  think  of 
the  bank,  when  her  reflections  reached  this  point. 
There  were  the  bonds,  not  as  many  as  they  had  been, 
but  still  fine,  salable  bonds.  She  could  pay  the  cook, 
pay  the  dressmaker,  take  Breck  home  a  game,  look 
at  hats,  spend  the  day  in  exactly  the  manner  that 
pleased  her  best.  She  had  promised  Joe  that  they 
would  discuss  the  sale  of  the  next  one  together  when 
they  had  sold  the  last  bond,  a  month  ago,  and  avoid  it 
if  possible.  But  what  difference  did  one  make? — a 
paltry  fifty  dollars  a  year!  Perhaps  it  would  be  pos- 
sible not  to  tell  Joe 

Billy  looked  in  her  purse.  She  had  a  dollar  bill 
and  fifty  cents,  more  than  enough  to  take  her  to  the 
bank  in  appropriate  style.  She  signalled  a  taxicab. 

Magsie  did  not  see  Warren  the  next  day,  but  they 
had  tea  and  a  talk  on  the  day  following.  She  told 
him  gayly  that  he  needed  cheering,  and  presently  took 
him  into  Tiffany's,  where  Warren  found  himself  buying 
her  a  coveted  emerald.  Somehow  during  the  after- 
noon he  found  himself  talking  and  planning  as  if  they 
really  loved  each  other,  and  really  were  to  be  married. 


THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL  321 

But  it  was  an  unsatisfactory  hour.  Magsie  was  ex- 
cited and  nervous,  and  was  rather  relieved  than  other- 
wise that  her  interviews  with  her  admirer  were  nec- 
essarily short.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  the  undisciplined 
little  creature  was  overtired  and  unreasonable.  She 
would  have  given  her  whole  future  for  a  quiet  week  in 
bed,  with  frivolous  novels  to  read,  and  Anna  to  spoil 
her,  no  captious  manager  to  please,  no  exhausting 
performances  to  madden  her  with  a  sense  of  her  own 
and  other  people's  imperfections,  and  no  Warren  to 
worry  her  with  his  long  face. 

Added  to  Magsie's  trials,  in  this  dreadful  week,  was 
an  interview  with  the  imposing  mother  of  young  Richie 
Gardiner,  a  handsome,  florid  lady,  who  had  inherited 
a  large  fortune  from  the  miner  husband  whose  fortunes 
she  had  gallantly  shared  through  some  extraordinary 
adventures  in  Nome.  Mrs.  Gardiner  idolized  her  son; 
she  was  not  inclined  to  be  generous  to  the  little  flippant 
actress  who  had  broken  his  heart.  Richie  would  not 
go  to  the  healing  desert,  he  would  not  go  to  any  place 
out  of  sound  of  Miss  Clay's  voice,  out  of  the  light  of 
Miss  Clay's  eyes.  Mrs.  Gardiner  had  no  objection 
to  Magsie's  person,  nor  to  her  profession,  the  fact  being 
that  her  own  origin  had  been  even  more  humble  than 
that  of  Miss  Clay,  but  she  wanted  the  treasure  of  her 
boy's  love  to  be  appreciated;  she  had  been  envying, 
since  the  hour  of  his  birth,  the  woman  who  should  win 
Richie's  love. 

Stout,  overdressed,  deep-voiced,  she  came  to  see  the 
actress,  and  they  both  cried;  Magsie  said  that  she 
was  sorry — she  was  so  bitterly  sorry — but,  yes,  there 
was  someone  else.  Mrs.  Gardiner  shrugged  philo- 
sophically, wiped  her  eyes,  drew  a  deep  breath.  No 
help  for  it!  Presently  she  heavily  departed;  her  solid 
weight,  her  tinkling  spangles,  and  her  rainbow  plumes 
vanished  into  the  limousine,  and  she  was  whirled  away. 

Magsie  sighed;  these  complications  were  romantic. 
What  could  one  do? 


CHAPTER  III 

SILENT,  abstracted,  unsmiling,  Rachael  got  through 
the  days.  She  ate  what  Mary  put  before  her,  slept 
fairly  well,  answered  the  puzzled  boys  the  second  time 
they  addressed  her.  She  buckled  sandals,  read  fairy 
tales,  brushed  the  unruly  heads,  and  listened  to  the 
wavering  prayers  day  after  day.  Her  eyes  were 
strained,  her  usually  quick,  definite  motions  curiously 
uncertain;  otherwise  there  was  little  change. 

Alice,  in  spite  of  her  husband's  half  protest,  went 
down  to  Clark's  Hills,  deciding  in  the  first  hour  that  the 
worst  of  the  matter  was  all  over  and  Rachael  quite 
herself,  gradually  becoming  doubtful,  and  returning 
home  in  despair.  Her  tearful  account  took  George 
down  to  the  country  house  a  week  later. 

Rachael  met  them;  they  dined  with  her.  She  was 
interested  about  the  Valentine  children,  interested  in 
their  summer  plans.  She  laughed  as  she  quoted  Derry's 
latest  ventures  with  words.  She  walked  to  her  gate 
to  wave  them  good-bye  on  Monday  morning,  and  told 
Alice  that  she  was  counting  the  days  until  the  big 
family  came  down.  But  George  and  Alice  were  heavy 
hearted  as  they  drove  away. 

"What  is  it?"  asked  Alice,  anxious  eyes  upon  her 
husband's  kind,  homely  face.  "She's  like  a  person 
recovering  from  a  blow.  She's  not  sick;  but,  George, 
she  isn't  well!" 

"No,  she's  not  well,"  George  agreed  soberly.  "Bad 
glitter  in  her  eyes,  and  I  don't  like  that  calm  for  fiery 
Rachael!  Well,  you'll  be  down  here  in  a  week  or 
two- 

"Last  week,"  Alice  said  not  for  the  first  time,  "she 
only  spoke  of — of  the  trouble,  you  know — once.  We 

822 


THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL  323 

were  just  going  out  to  dinner,  and  she  turned  to  me, 
and  said:  *I  didn't  like  my  bargain  eight  years  ago, 
Alice,  and  I  tore  my  contract  to  pieces!  Now  I'll  pay 
for  it.'" 

"And  you  said?" 

"I  said,  'Oh,  nonsense,  Rachael.  Don't  be  mor- 
bid! There's  no  parallel  between  the  cases!" 

"H'm!"  The  doctor  was  silent  for  a  long  time. 
"I  don't  know  what  Greg's  doing,"  he  added  after 
thought. 

"The  question  is,  what  is  Magsie  doing?"  said  Alice. 

"In  my  opinion,  Rachael's  simply  blown  up,"  George 
submitted. 

"Magsie  told  her  they  had  talked  of  marriage!'* 
Alice  countered.  George  gave  an  incredulous  snort. 

"Well,  then,  Magsie  lied,"  he  said  firmly. 

"She  really  isn't  the  lying  type,  George.  And  there's 
no  question  that  Greg  and  she  did  see  each  other  every 
day,  and  that  he  wrote  her  letters  and  gave  her  pres- 
ents!" Alice  finished  rather  timidly,  for  her  husband's 
face  was  a  thunder-cloud.  The  old  car  flew  along  at 
thirty-five  miles  an  hour. 

"Damn  fool  I"  George  presently  muttered.  Alice 
glanced  at  him  in  sympathetic  concern. 

"George,  why  don't  you  see  him?" 

George  preserved  a  stern  silence  for  perhaps  two 
flying  minutes,  then  he  sighed. 

"Oh,  he'll  come  to  me  fast  enough  when  he  needs 
me!  Lord,  I've  pulled  old  Greg  out  of  trouble  before." 
His  whole  face  grew  tender  as  he  added:  "You  know 
Greg  is  a  genius,  Alice;  he's  not  like  other  men!" 

"I  should  hope  he  wasn't!"  said  Alice  with  spirit. 

"We — 11!"  She  was  sorry  for  her  vehemence  when 
George  merely  shook  his  head  and  ended  the  conver- 
sation on  the  monosyllable.  After  a  while  she  at- 
tempted to  reopen  the  subject. 

"If  geniuses  can  act  that  way,  I'd  rather  have  our 
girls  marry  grocers!" 

The  girls'  father  smiled  absently. 


324  THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL 

"Oh,  well,  of  course!"  he  conceded. 

"Greg  is  no  more  a  genius  than  you  are,  George," 
argued  Alice. 

"Oh,  Alice,  Alice!"  he  protested,  really  distressed, 
"don't  ever  let  anyone  hear  you  say  that!  Why,  that 
only  shows  that  you  don't  know  what  Greg  is.  Lord, 
the  man  seems  to  have  an  absolute  instinct  for  bones; 
he'll  take  a  chance  when  not  one  of  the  rest  will!  No, 
you  mark  my  words,  Alice,  Greg  has  let  Magsie  Clay 
make  a  fool  of  him;  he's  been  overtired  and  nervous 
— we've  all  seen  that — but  he's  as  innocent  of  any 
actual  harm  in  this  thing  as  our  Gogo!" 

"Innocent!"  sniffed  Alice.  "He'll  break  Rachael's 
heart  with  his  innocence,  and  then  he'll  marry  Magsie 
Clay — you'll  see!" 

"He'll  come  to  me  to  get  him  out  of  it  within  the 
month — you'll  see!"  George  retorted. 

"He'll  keep  out  of  your  way!"  Alice  predicted  con- 
fidently. "I  know  Greg.  He  has  to  be  perfect  or 
nothing." 

But  it  was  only  ten  days  later  that  Warren  Gregory 
walked  up  the  steps  of  the  Valentine  house  at  about 
ten  o'clock  on  a  silent,  hazy  morning.  George  had  not 
yet  left  the  house  for  the  day.  The  drawing-room 
furniture  was  swathed  in  linen  covers,  and  a  collection 
of  golf  irons,  fishing  rods,  canoe  paddles,  and  tennis 
rackets  crowded  the  hallway.  The  young  Valentines 
were  departing  for  the  country  to-morrow,  and  their 
excited  voices  echoed  from  above  stairs. 

Warren  had  supposed  them  already  gone.  Rachael 
was  alone,  then,  he  reflected,  alone  in  that  desolate 
little  country  village!  He  nodded  to  the  maid,  and 
asked  in  a  guarded  tone  for  Doctor  Valentine.  A 
moment  later  George  Valentine  came  into  the  drawing- 
room,  and  the  two  men  exchanged  a  look  strange  to 
their  twenty  years  of  affectionate  intercourse.  Warren 
attempted  mere  cold  dignity;  he  was  on  the  defen- 
sive, and  he  knew  it.  George's  look  verged  on  con- 


THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL  325 

tempt,  thinly  veiled  by  a  polite  interest  in  his  visitor's 
errand. 

"George,"  said  Warren  suddenly,  when  he  had  asked 
for  Alice  and  the  children,  and  an  awkward  silence  had 
made  itself  felt;  "George,  I'm  in  trouble.  I — I  won- 
der if  you  can  help  me  out?" 

He  could  hardly  have  made  a  more  fortunate  begin- 
ning; halting  as  the  words  were,  and  miserable  as 
was  the  look  that  accompanied  them,  both  rang  true 
to  the  older  man,  and  went  straight  to  his  heart. 

"Fin  sorry  to  hear  it,"  George  said. 

Warren  folded  his  arms,  and  regarded  his  friend 
steadily  across  them. 

"You  know  Rachael  has  left  me,  George?"  he  began. 

"I — well,  yes,  Alice  went  down  there  first,  and  then 
I  went  down,"  George  said.  "We  only  came  back 
ten  days  ago."  There  was  another  brief  silence. 

"She — she  hasn't  any  cause  for  this,  you  know, 
George,"  Warren  said,  ending  it,  after  watching  the 
other  man  hopefully  for  further  suggestion. 

"Hasn't,  huh?"  George  asked  thoughtfully,  hope- 
fully. 

"No,  she  hasn't!"  Warren  reiterated,  gaining  con- 
fidence. "I've  been  a  fool,  I  admit  that,  but  Rachael 
has  no  cause  to  go  off  at  half-cock,  this  way!" 

"What  d'you  mean  by  that?"  George  asked  flatly. 
"What  do  you  mean — you've  been  a  fool?" 

"I've  been  a  fool  about  Magsie  Clay,"  Warren  ad- 
mitted, "and  Rachael  learned  about  it,  that's  all.  My 
Lord!  there  never  was  an  instant  in  my  life  when  I 
took  it  seriously,  I  give  you  my  word,  George!" 

"Well,  if  Rachael  takes  it  seriously,  and  Magsie 
takes  it  seriously,  you  may  find  yourself  beginning  to 
take  it  seriously,  too,"  George  said  with  a  dull  man's 
simple  evasion  of  confusing  elements. 

"Rachael  may  get  her  divorce,"  Warren  said  des- 
perately. "I  can't  help  that,  I  suppose.  I've  got  a 
letter  from  her  here — she  left  it.  I  don't  know  what  she 
thinks!  But  I'll  never  marry  Margaret  Clay — that 


326  THE  HEART  OF  BACHAEL 

much  is  settled.  I'll  leave  town — my  work's  ended> 
I  might  as  well  be  dead.  God  knows  I  wish  I  were!" 

"Just  how  far  have  you  gone  with  Magsie?"  George 
interrupted  quietly. 

"Why,  nothing  at  all!"  Warren  said.  "Flowers, 
handbags,  things  like  that!  I've  kissed  her,  but  I 
swear  Rachael  never  gave  me  any  reason  to  think 
she'd  mind  that." 

"How  often  have  you  seen  her?"  George  asked  in 
a  somewhat  relieved  tone.  "Have  you  seen  her  once 
a  week?" 

"Oh,  yes !  I  say  frankly  that  this  was  a — a  flirtation, 
George.  I've  seen  her  pretty  nearly  every  day " 

"But  she  hasn't  got  any  letters — nothing  like  that?" 

Warren's  confident  expression  changed. 

"Well,  yes,  she  has  some  letters.  I — damn  it!  I 
am  a  fool,  George!  I  swear  I  wrote  them  just  as  I 
might  to  anybody.  I — I  knew  it  mattered  to  her, 
you  know,  and  that  she  looked  for  them.  I  don't  know 
how  they'd  read!" 

George  was  silent,  scowling,  and  Warren  said, 
"Damn  it!"  again  nervously,  before  the  other  man 
said: 

"What  do  you  think  she  will  do?" 

"I  don't  know,  George,"  Warren  said  honestly. 

"Could  you — buy  her  off?"  George  presently  asked 
after  thought. 

"Magsie?  Never!  She's  not  that  type.  She's  one 
of  ourselves  as  to  that,  George.  It  was  that  that 
made  me  like  Magsie — she's  a  lady,  you  know.  She 
thinks  she's  in  love;  she  wants  to  be  married.  And  if 
Rachael  divorces  me,  what  else  can  I  do?" 

"Rachael  wants  the  divorce  for  the  boys,"  George 
said.  "She  told  Alice  so.  She  said  that  except  for 
that,  nothing  on  earth  would  have  made  her  consider 
it.  But  she  doesn't  want  you  and  Magsie  Clay  to 
have  any  hold  over  her  sons — and  can  you  blame  her? 
She's  been  dragged  through  all  this  once.  You  might 
have  thought  of  that!" 


THE  HEART  OF  BACHAEL  327 

"Oh,  my  God!"  Warren  said,  stopping  by  the 
mantel,  and  putting  his  face  in  his  hands. 

"Well,  what  did  you  think  would  happen?"  George 
asked  as  Magsie  had  asked. 

Then  for  perhaps  two  long  minutes  there  was  ab- 
solute silence,  while  Warren  remained  motionless,  and 
George,  in  great  distress,  rubbed  his  upstanding  hair. 

"George,  what  shall  I  do?"  Warren  burst  out  at 
length. 

"Why,  now  I'll  tell  you,"  the  older  man  said  in  a 
tone  that  carried  exquisite  balm  to  his  listener.  "Alice 
and  I  have  talked  this  over,  of  course,  and  this  seems 
to  me  to  be  the  only  way  out:  we  know  you,  old  man 
—that's  what  hurts.  Alice  and  I  know  exactly  what 
has  got  you  into  this  thing.  You're  too  easy,  Warren. 
You  think  because  you  mean  honorably  by  Magsie 
Clay,  and  amuse  yourself  by  being  generous  to  her, 
that  Magsie  means  honorably  by  you.  You've  got 
a  high  standard  of  morals,  Greg,  but  where  they  differ 
from  the  common  standards  you  fail.  If  the  world  is 
going  to  put  a  certain  construction  upon  your  atten- 
tions to  an  actress,  it  doesn't  matter  what  private  con- 
struction you  happen  to  put  upon  them!  Wake  up, 
and  realize  what  a  fool  you  are  to  try  to  buck  the  con- 
ventions! What  you  need  is  to  study  other  people's 
morals,  not  to  be  eternally  justifying  and  analyzing 
your  own.  I  don't  know  how  you'll  come  out  of  this 
thing.  Upon  my  word,  it's  the  worst  mess  we  ever 
got  into  since  you  misquoted  Professor  Diggs  and  he 
sued  you.  Remember  that?" 

"Oh,  George — my  God — how  you  stood  by  me  then," 
Warren  said.  "Get  me  out  of  this,  and  I'll  believe 
that  there  never  was  a  friend  like  you  in  the  world!  I 
don't  know  what  I  ever  did  to  have  you  and  Alice 
stand  by  me — 

"Alice  isn't  standing  by  you  to  any  conspicuous 
extent,"  George  Valentine  said  smilingly,  "although, 
last  night,  when  she  was  putting  the  girls  to  bed,  she 
put  her  arms  about  Martha,  and  said,  'George,  she 


328  THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL 

wouldn't  be  here  to-day  if  Greg  hadn't  taken  the  chance 
and  cut  that  thing  out  of  her  throat!'  At  which,  of 
course,"  Doctor  Valentine  added  with  his  boyish  smile, 
"Martha's  dad  had  to  wipe  his  eyes,  and  Martha's 
mother  began  to  cry!" 

And  again  he  frankly  wiped  his  eyes. 

"However,  the  thing  is  this,"  he  presently  resumed, 
"if  you  could  buy  off  Magsie — simply  tell  her  frankly 
that  you've  been  a  fool,  that  you  don't  want  to  go  on 
with  it — no,  eh?"  A  little  discouraged  by  Warren's 
dubious  shake  of  the  head,  he  went  on  to  the  next 
suggestion.  "Well,  then,  if  you  can't — tell  her  that 
there  cannot  be  any  talk  at  present  of  a  legal  separation, 
and  that  you  are  going  away.  Would  you  have  the 
nerve  to  do  that?  Tell  her  that  you'll  be  back  in 
eight  months  or  a  year.  But  of  course  the  best  thing 
would  be  to  buy  her  off,  or  call  it  off  in  some  way,  and 
then  write  Rachael  fully,  frankly — tell  her  the  whole 
thing,  ask  her  to  wait  at  least  one  year,  and  then  let 
you  see  her 

Warren  could  see  himself  writing  this  letter,  could 
even  see  himself  walking  into  the  dear  old  sitting-room 
at  Home  Dunes. 

"I  might  see  Magsie,"  he  said  after  thought,  "and 
ask  her  what  she  would  take  in  place  of  what  she  wants. 
It's  just  possible,  but  I  don't  believe  she  would— 

"Well,  what  could  she  do  if  you  simply  called  the 
whole  thing  off?"  George  asked.  "Hang  it!  it's  a 
beastly  thing  to  do,  but  if  she  wants  money,  you've 
got  it,  and  you've  done  her  no  harm,  though  nobody'll 
believe  that." 

"She'll  take  the  heartbroken  attitude,"  Warren  said 
slowly.  "She'll  say  that  she  trusted  me,  that  she 
can't  believe  me,  and  so  on." 

"Well,  you  can  stand  that.  Just  set  your  jaw,  and 
think  of  Rachael,  and  go  through  with  it  once  and  for 
all." 

"Yes,  but  then  if  she  should  turn  to  Rachael  again?" 

"Ah,  well,  she  mustn't  do  that.     Let  her  think  that, 


THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL  327 

"Oh,  my  God!"  Warren  said,  stopping  by  the 
mantel,  and  putting  his  face  in  his  hands. 

"Well,  what  did  you  think  would  happen?"  George 
asked  as  Magsie  had  asked. 

Then  for  perhaps  two  long  minutes  there  was  ab- 
solute silence,  while  Warren  remained  motionless,  and 
George,  in  great  distress,  rubbed  his  upstanding  hair. 

"George,  what  shall  I  do?"  Warren  burst  out  at 
length. 

"Why,  now  I'll  tell  you,"  the  older  man  said  in  a 
tone  that  carried  exquisite  balm  to  his  listener.  "Alice 
and  I  have  talked  this  over,  of  course,  and  this  seems 
to  me  to  be  the  only  way  out:  we  know  you,  old  man 
—that's  what  hurts.  Alice  and  I  know  exactly  what 
has  got  you  into  this  thing.  You're  too  easy,  Warren. 
You  think  because  you  mean  honorably  by  Magsie 
Clay,  and  amuse  yourself  by  being  generous  to  her, 
that  Magsie  means  honorably  by  you.  You've  got 
a  high  standard  of  morals,  Greg,  but  where  they  differ 
from  the  common  standards  you  fail.  If  the  world  is 
going  to  put  a  certain  construction  upon  your  atten- 
tions to  an  actress,  it  doesn't  matter  what  private  con- 
struction you  happen  to  put  upon  them!  Wake  up, 
and  realize  what  a  fool  you  are  to  try  to  buck  the  con- 
ventions! What  you  need  is  to  study  other  people's 
morals,  not  to  be  eternally  justifying  and  analyzing 
your  own.  I  don't  know  how  you'll  come  out  of  this 
thing.  Upon  my  word,  it's  the  worst  mess  we  ever 
got  into  since  you  misquoted  Professor  Diggs  and  he 
sued  you.  Remember  that?" 

"Oh,  George — my  God — how  you  stood  by  me  then," 
Warren  said.  "Get  me  out  of  this,  and  I'll  believe 
that  there  never  was  a  friend  like  you  in  the  world!  I 
don't  know  what  I  ever  did  to  have  you  and  Alice 
stand  by  me— 

"Alice  isn't  standing  by  you  to  any  conspicuous 
extent,"  George  Valentine  said  smilingly,  "although, 
last  night,  when  she  was  putting  the  girls  to  bed,  she 
put  her  arms  about  Martha,  and  said,  'George,  she 


330  THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL 

would  be  heaven,  no  less!  What  comradeship  they  had 
had,  they  two,  what  theatre  trips,  what  summer  days  in 
the  car,  what  communion  over  the  first  baby's  downy 
head,  what  conferences  over  the  new  papers  and  cre- 
tonnes for  Home  Dunes  ! 

Girded  by  these  and  a  hundred  other  sacred  memories 
he  went  to  Magsie,  who  was  busy,  the  maid  told  him, 
with  her  hairdresser.  But  she  presently  came  out  to 
him,  wrapped  snugly  in  a  magnificent  embroidered 
kimono,  and  with  her  masses  of  bright  hair,  almost 
dry,  hanging  about  her  lovely  little  face.  She  had 
never  in  all  their  intercourse  shown  him  quke  this  touch 
of  intimacy  before,  and  he  felt  with  a  little  wince  of 
his  heart  that  it  was  a  sign  of  her  approaching  pos- 
session. 

"Greg,  dear,"  said  Magsie  seating  herself  on  the 
arm  of  his  chair,  and  resting  her  soft  little  person  against 
him,  "I've  been  thinking  about  you,  and  about  the 
wonderful,  wonderful  way  that  all  our  troubles  have 
come  out!  If  anyone  had  told  us,  two  months  ago, 
that  Rachael  would  set  you  free,  and  that  all  this 
would  have  happened,  we  wouldn't  have  believed 
it,  would  we?  I  watched  you  walking  down  the 
street  yesterday  afternoon,  and,  oh,  Greg,  I  hope  I'm 
going  to  be  a  good  wife  to  you;  I  hope  I'm  going 
to  make  up  to  you  for  all  the  misery  you've  had  to 
bear!" 

This  was  not  the  opening  sentence  Warren  was  ex- 
pecting. Magsie  had  been  petulant  the  day  before, 
and  had  pettishly  declared  that  she  would  not  wait  a 
year  for  any  man  in  the  world.  Warren  had  at  once 
seized  the  opening  to  say  that  he  would  not  hold  her  to 
anything  against  her  will,  to  be  answered  by  a  burst  of 
tears,  and  an  entreaty  not  to  be  "so  mean."  Then 
Magsie  had  to  be  soothed,  and  they  had  gone  to  tea 
as  a  part  of  that  familiar  process.  But  to-day  her  mood 
was  different;  she  was  full  of  youthful  enthusiasm  for 
the  future. 

"You  know  I  love  Rachael,  Greg,  and  of  course  she 


THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL  331 

is  a  most  exceptional  woman,"  bubbled  Magsie  happily, 
"but  she  doesn't  appreciate  the  fact  that  you're  a 
genius — you're  not  a  little  everyday  husband,  to  be 
held  to  her  ideas  of  what's  done  and  what  isn't  done! 
Big  men  are  a  law  unto  themselves.  If  Rachael  wants 
to  hang  over  babies'  cribs,  and  scare  you  to  death  every 
time  Jim  sneezes- 
Warren  listened  no  further.  His  mind  went  astray 
on  a  memory  of  the  night  Jim  was  feverish,  a  memory 
of  Rachael  in  her  trailing  dull-blue  robe,  with  her  thick 
braids  hanging  over  her  shoulders.  He  remembered 
that  Jim  was  promised  the  circus  if  he  would  take  his 
medicine;  and  how  Rachael,  with  smiling  lips  and 
anxious  eyes,  had  described  the  big  lions  and  the 
elephants  for  the  little  restless  potentate— 

" — because  I've  had  enough  of  Bowman,  and  enough 
of  this  city,  and  all  I  ask  is  to  run  away  with  you,  and 
never  think  of  rehearsals  and  routes  and  all  the  rest 
of  it  in  my  life  again ! "  Magsie  was  saying.  Presently 
she  seemed  to  notice  his  silence,  for  she  asked  abruptly: 
"Where's  Rachael?" 

WTarren  roused  himself  from  deep  thought. 
"At  the  Long  Island  house;   at  Clark's  Hills." 
"Oh!"     Magsie,     no  was  now  seated  opposite  him, 
clasped  her  hands  ^rashly  about  her  knees.     "What  is 
the  plan,  Greg?"  she  asked  vivaciously. 

"Her  plan?"  Warren  said  clearing  his  throat. 
"Our  plan!"  Magsie  amended  contentedly.  And 
she  summarized  the  case  briskly:  "Rachael  consents 
to  a  divorce,  we  know  that.  I  am  not  going  on  with 
Bowman,  I've  decided  that.  Now  what?"  She  eyed 
his  brooding  face  curiously.  "\Vhat  shall  I  do,  Greg? 
I  suppose  we  oughtn't  to  see  each  other  as  we  did  last 
summer?  If  Rachael  goes  West — and  I  suppose  she 
will — shall  I  go  up  to  the  Villalongas'  ?  They're  terribly 
nice  to  me;  and  I  think  Vera  suspects — 

"What  makes  you  think  she  does?"  Warren  asked, 
feeling  as  if  a  hot,  dry  wind  suddenly  smote  his  skin. 
"Because  she's  so  nice  to  me!"  Magsie  answered 


332  THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL 

triumphantly.  "Rachael's  been  just  a  little  snippy  to 
Vera,"  she  confided  further,  "or  Vera  thinks  she  has. 
She's  not  been  up  there  for  ages !  I  could  tell  Vera " 

Warren's  power  of  reasoning  was  dissipated  in  an 
absolute  panic.  But  George  had  primed  him  for  this 
talk.  He  assumed  an  air  of  business. 

"There  are  several  things  to  think  of,  Magsie,"  he 
said  briskly,  "before  we  can  go  farther.  In  the  first 
place,  you  must  spend  the  summer  comfortably.  I've 
arranged  for  that " 

He  handed  her  a  small  yellow  bank-book.  Magsie 
glanced  at  it;  glanced  at  him. 

"Oh,  Greg,  dear,  you're  too  generous!" 

"I'm  not  generous  at  all,"  he  answered  with  an  hon- 
est flush.  "I  know  what  I  am  now,  Magsie.  I'm  a 
cad." 

"Who  says  you're  a  cad?"  Magsie  demanded  in- 
dignantly. 

"I  say  so!"  he  answered.  "Any  man  is  a  cad  who 
gets  two  women  into  a  mess  like  this ! " 

"Greg,  dear,  you  shan't  say  so!"  Her  slender 
arms  were  about  his  neck. 

"Well "  He  disengaged  the  arms,  and  went  on 

with  his  planning.  "George  VaL  ~»tine  is  going  to  see 
Rachael,"  he  proceeded. 

"About  the  divorce?"  said  Magsie  with  a  nod. 

"About  the  whole  thing.  And  George  thinks  I  had 
better  go  away." 

"Where?"  demanded  Magsie. 

"Oh,  travelling  somewhere." 

"Rio?"  dimpled  Magsie.  "You  know  you  have 
always  had  a  sneaking  desire  to  see  Rio." 

Warren  smiled  mechanically.  It  had  been  Rachael's 
favorite  dream  "when  the  boys  are  big  enough!"  His 
sons — were  they  bathing  this  minute,  or  eagerly  empty- 
ing their  blue  porridge  bowls  ? 

"Magsie,  dear,"  he  said  slowly,  "it's  a  miserable 
business — this.  I'm  as  sorry  as  I  can  be  about  it. 
But  the  truth  is  that  George  wants  me  to  get  away  only 


THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL  333 

until  he  and  Alice  can  get  Rachael  into  a  mood  where 
she'll  forgive  me.  They  see  this  whole  crazy  thing  as 
it  really  is,  dear.  I'm  not  a  young  man,  Magsie,  I'm 
nearly  fifty.  I  have  no  business  to  think  of  anything 

but  my  own  wife  and  my  work  and  my  children 

Don't  look  so,  Magsie,"  he  broke  off  to  say;  "I  only 
blame  myself!  I  have  loved  you — I  do  love  you — but 
it's  only  a  man's  love  for  a  sweet  little  amusing  friend. 
Can't  we — can't  we  stop  it  right  here?  You  do  what 
you  please;  draw  on  me  for  twice  that,  for  ten  times 
that;  have  a  long,  restful  summer,  and  then  come  back 
in  the  fall  as  if  this  was  all  a  dream " 

Magsie  had  been  watching  him  steadily  during  this 
speech,  a  long  speech  for  him.  At  first  she  had  been 
obviously  puzzled,  then  astonished,  now  she  was  angry. 
She  had  grown  pale,  her  pretty  childish  mouth  was  a 
little  open,  her  breath  coming  fast.  For  a  full  minute, 
as  his  voice  halted,  there  was  silence. 

"Then — then  you  didn't  mean  all  you  said?"  Magsie 
demanded  stormily,  after  the  pause.  "You  didn't 
mean  that  you — cared  ?  You  didn't  mean  the  letters, 
and  the  presents,  and  the  talks  we've  had  ?  You  knew 
/  was  in  earnest,  but  you  were  just  fooling!"  Sheer 
excitement  and  fury  kept  her  panting  for  a  moment, 
then  she  went  on:  "But  I  think  I  know  who's  done 
this,  Greg!"  she  said  viciously;  "it's  Mrs.  Valentine. 
She  and  her  husband  have  been  talking  to  you;  they've 
done  it.  She's  persuaded  you  that  you  never  were 
in  earnest  with  me!"  Magsie  ran  across  the  room, 
flung  open  the  little  desk  that  stood  there,  and  tore  the 
rubber  band  from  a  package  of  letters.  "You  take 
her  one  of  these!"  she  said,  half  sobbing.  "Ask  her  if 
that  means  anything!  Greg,  dear!"  she  interrupted 
herself  to  say  in  a  child's  reproachful  tone,  "didn't 
you  mean  it?"  And  with  her  soft  hair  floating,  and 
her  figure  youthful  under  the  simple  lines  of  her  Ori- 
ental robe,  she  came  to  stand  close  beside  him,  her  mood 
suddenly  changed.  "Don't  you  love  me  any  more, 
Greg?"  said  she. 


334  THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL 


"Love  you!"  he  countered  with  a  rueful  laugh, 
"that's  the  trouble." 

She  linked  her  soft  little  hands  in  his,  raised  reproach- 
ful eyes. 

"  But  you  don't  love  me  enough  to  stand  by  me,  now 
that  Rachael  is  so  cross?"  she  asked  artlessly.  "Oh, 
Greg,  I  will  wait  years  and  years  for  you ! " 

Warren's  expression  was  of  wretchedness;  he  man- 
aged a  smile. 

"It's  only  that  I  hate  to  let  you  in  for  it  all,  dear. 
And  let  her  in  for  it.  I  feel  as  if  we  hadn't  thought  it 
out — quite  enough,"  he  said. 

"What  does  it  let  Rachael  in  for?"  she  asked  quickly. 
"Here's  her  letter,  Greg — I'll  read  it  to  you!  Rachael 
doesn't  mind." 

"Well — it  will  be  horrible  for  you,"  he  submitted  in  a 
troubled  tone.  "Horrible  for  us  both." 

"You  mean  your  work  can't  spare  you?"  she  asked 
with  a  shrewd  look. 

"No!"  He  shrugged  wearily.  "No.  The  truth 
is,  I  want  to  get  away,"  he  said  in  an  undertone. 

"Ah,  well!"  Magsie  understood  that.  "Of  course 
you  want  to  get  away  from  the  fuss  and  the  talk,  Greg," 
she  said  eagerly.  "I  think  we  all  ought  to  get  away: 
Rachael  to  Long  Island,  I  to  Vera,  you  anywhere!  We 
can't  possibly  be  married  for  months —  Suddenly 

her  voice  sank,  she  dropped  his  hands,  and  locked  her 
smooth  little  arms  about  his  neck.  "But  I'll  be  waiting 
for  you,  and  you  for  me,  Greg,"  she  whispered.  "Isn't 
it  all  settled  now,  isn't  it  only  a  question  of  all  the 
bother,  lawyers  and  arrangements,  before  you  and  I 
belong  to  each  other  as  we've  always  dreamed  we 
might?" 

He  looked  down  gravely,  almost  sadly,  and  yet  with 
tenderness,  upon  the  eager  face.  He  had  always  found 
her  lovable,  endearing,  and  sweet;  even  out  of  this 
hideous  smoke  and  flame  she  emerged  all  charming  and 
all  desirable.  He  tightened  his  arms  about  the  thinly 
wrapped  little  figure. 


THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL  335 

"Yes.     I  think  it's  all  settled  now,  Magsie!"  he  said. 

"Well,  then!"  She  sealed  it  with  one  of  her  quick 
little  kisses.  "Now  sit  down  and  read  a  magazine, 
Greg,"  she  said  happily,  "and  in  ten  minutes  you'll  see 
me  in  my  new  hat,  all  ready  to  go  to  lunch!" 


CHAPTER  IV 

THE  blue  tides  rose  and  fell  at  Clark's  Hills,  the 
summer  sun  shone  healingly  down  upon  Rachael's  sick 
heart  and  soul.  Day  after  day  she  took  her  bare- 
headed, sandalled  boys  to  the  white  beach,  and  lay  in 
the  warm  sands,  with  the  tonic  Atlantic  breezes  blow- 
ing over  her.  Space  and  warmth  and  silence  were  all 
about;  the  incoming  breakers  moved  steadily  in,  and 
shrank  back  in  a  tumble  of  foam  and  blue  water;  gulls 
dipped  and  wheeled  in  the  spray.  As  far  as  her  dream- 
ing eyes  could  reach,  up  the  beach  and  down,  there 
was  the  same  bath  of  warm  color,  blue  sea  melting  into 
blue  sky,  white  sand  mingling  with  yellow  dunes,  until 
all  colors,  in  the  distance,  swam  in  a  haze  of  dull  gold. 

Now  and  then,  when  even  the  shore  was  hot,  the 
boys  elected  to  spend  their  afternoon  by  the  bay  on 
the  other  side  of  the  village.  Here  there  was  much 
small  traffic  in  dingies  and  dories  and  lobster-pots; 
the  slower  tides  rocked  the  little  craft  at  the  moorings, 
and  sent  bright  swinging  light  against  the  weather-worn 
planks  under  the  pier.  Rachael  smiled  when  she  saw 
Derry's  little  dark  head  confidently  resting  against  the 
flowing,  milky  beard  of  old  Cap'n  Jessup,  or  heard  the 
bronzed  lean  younger  men  shout  to  her  older  son,  as 
to  an  equal,  "Pitch  us  that  painter,  will  ye,  Jim!" 

She  spoke  infrequently  but  quietly  of  Warren  to 
Alice.  The  older  woman  discovered,  with  a  pang  of 
dismay,  that  Rachael's  attitude  was  fixed  beyond  ap- 
peal. There  was  such  a  thing  as  divorce,  established 
and  approved;  she,  Rachael,  had  availed  herself  of  its 
advantages;  now  it  was  Warren's  turn. 

Rachael  would  live  for  her  sons.  They  must  of 
course  be  her  own.  She  would  take  them  away  to 

336 


THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL  337 

some  other  atmosphere:  "England,  I  think,"  she  told 
Alice.  "That's  my  mother  country,  you  know,  and 
children  lead  a  sane,  balanced  life  there." 

"I  will  be  everything  to  them  until  they  are — say, 
ten  and  twelve,"  she  added  on  another  day,  "and  then 
they  will  begin  to  turn  toward  their  father.  Of  course 
I  can't  blame  him  to  them,  Alice.  And  some  day  they 
will  come  to  believe  that  it  is  all  their  mother's  fault — 
that's  the  way  with  children!  And  so  I'll  pay  again." 

"Dearest  girl,  you're  morbid!"  Alice  said,  not 
knowing  whether  to  laugh  or  cry. 

"No,  I  mean  it,  I  truly  mean  that!  It  is  disillusion- 
ing for  young  boys  to  learn  that  their  father  and  mother 
were  not  self-controlled,  normal  persons,  able  to  bear 
the  little  pricks  of  life,  but  that  our  history  has  been 
public  gossip  for  years,  that  two  separate  divorces  are 
in  their  immediate  history!" 

"Rachael,  don't  talk  so  recklessly!" 

Rachael  smiled  sadly. 

"Well,  perhaps  I  can  be  a  good  mother  to  them, 
even  if  they  don't  idealize  me!"  she  mused. 

"I  have  come  to  this  conclusion,"  she  told 
Alice  one  day,  about  a  fortnight  later,  "while  civili- 
zation is  as  it  is,  divorce  is  wrong.  No  matter  what 
the  circumstances  are,  no  matter  where  the  right  and 
wrong  lie,  divorce  is  wrong" 

"I  suppose  there  are  cases  of  drink  or  infidelity " 

Alice  submitted  mildly. 

"Then  it's  the  drink,  or  the  infidelity  that  should  be 
changed!"  Rachael  answered  inflexibly.  "It's  the  one 
vow  we  take  with  God  as  witness;  and  no  blessing 
ever  follows  a  broken  vow!" 

"I  think  myself  that  there  are  not  many  marriages 
that  couldn't  be  successes!"  Alice  said  thoughtfully. 

"Separation,  if  you  like!"  Rachael  conceded  with 
something  of  her  old  bright  energy.  "Change  and 
absence,  for  weeks  and  months,  but  not  divorce.  Paula 
Verlaine  should  never  have  divorced  Clarence;  she 


338  THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL 

made  a  worse  match,  if  that  was  possible,  and  involved 
three  other  small  lives  in  the  general  discomfort.  And 
I  never  should  have  married  Clarence,  because  I  didn't 
love  him.  I  didn't  want  children  then;  I  never 
felt  that  the  arrangement  was  permanent;  but  hav- 
ing married  him,  I  should  have  stayed  by  him.  I 
know  the  mood  in  which  Clarence  took  his  own  life; 
he  never  loved  me  as  he  did  Bill,  but  he  wouldn't  have 
done  it  if  I  had  been  there!" 

"I  cannot  consider  Clarence  Breckenridge  a  loss  to 
society,"  Alice  said. 

"I  might  have  made  Clarence  a  man  who  would 
have  been  a  loss  to  society,"  Rachael  mused.  "He 
was  proud;  loved  to  be  praised.  And  he  loved  chil- 
dren; one  or  two  babies  in  the  nursery  would  have  put 
Billy  in  second  place.  But  he  bored  me,  and  I  simply 
wouldn't  go  on  being  bored.  So  that  if  I  had  had  a 
little  more  courage,  or  a  little  more  prudence  in  the 
first  place,  Billy,  Clarence,  perhaps  Charlotte  and 
Charlie,  Greg,  Derry,  Jim,  Joe  Pickering,  and  Billy 
might  all  have  been  happier,  to  say  nothing  of  the 
general  example  to  society." 

"I  hear  that  Billy  is  unhappy  enough  now,"  Alice 
said,  pleased  at  Rachael's  unusual  vivacity.  "Isabelle 
Haviland  told  my  Mary  that  Cousin  Billy  was  talking 
about  divorce." 

"From  Joe?  —  is  that  so?"  Rachael  looked  up  inter- 
estedly. "I  hadn't  heard  it,  and  somehow  I  don't  be- 
lieve it!  They  have  a  curious  affinity  through  all  their 
adventures.  Poor  little  Bill,  it  hasn't  been  much  of  a 


"They  say  she  is  going  on  the  stage,"  Alice  pursued, 
"which  seems  a  pity,  especially  for  the  child's  sake. 
He's  an  attractive  boy;  we  saw  him  with  her  at 
Atlantic  City  last  winter  —  one  of  those  wonderfully 
dressed,  patient,  pathetic  children,  always  with  the 
grown-ups!  The  little  chap  must  have  a  rather  queer 
life  of  it  drifting  about  from  hotel  to  hotel.  They're 
hard  up,  and  I  believe  most  of  the  shops  and  hotels 


THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL  339 

have  actually  black-listed  them.  He  would  seem  to 
be  the  sort  of  man  who  cannot  hold  on  to  anything, 
and,  of  course,  there's  the  drinking!  She's  not  the 
girl  to  save  him.  She  drinks  rather  recklessly  herself; 
it's  a  part  of  her  pose." 

"I  wonder  if  she  would  let  the  youngster  come  down 
here  and  scramble  about  with  my  boys  ? "  Rachael  said 
unexpectedly.  She  had  not  seriously  thought  of  it; 
the  suggestion  came  idly.  But  instantly  it  took  defi- 
nite hold.  "I  wonder  if  she  would?"  she  added  with 
more  animation  than  she  had  shown  for  some  time. 
"I  would  love  to  have  him,  and  of  course  the  boys  would 
go  wild  with  joy!  I  would  be  so  glad  to  do  poor  old 
Billy  a  good  turn.  She  and  I  were  always  friends,  and 
had  some  queer  times  together.  And  more  than  that" 
— Rachael's  eyes  darkened — "I  believe  that  if  I  had 
had  the  right  influence  over  her  she  never  would  have 
married  Joe.  I  regarded  the  whole  thing  too  lightly; 
I  could  have  tried,  in  a  different  way,  to  prevent  it,  at 
least.  I  am  certainly  going  to  write  her,  and  ask  for 
little  Breckenridge.  It  would  be  something  to  do  for 
Clarence,  too,"  Rachael  added  in  a  low  tone,  and  as  if 
half  to  herself,  "and  for  many  long  years  I  have  felt 
that  I  would  be  glad  to  do  something  for  him!  To 
have  his  grandson  here — doesn't  it  seem  odd? — and 
perhaps  to  lend  Billy  a  hand;  it  seems  almost  like  an 
answer  to  prayer!  He  can  sleep  on  the  porch,  between 
the  boys,  and  if  he  has  some  old  clothes,  and  a  bathing 
suit— 

"  MY  DEAR  BILLY,"  she  wrote  that  night,  "I  have  heard 
one  or  two  hints  of  late  that  you  have  a  good  many  things 
in  your  life  just  now  that  make  for  worry,  and  am  writing  to 
know  if  my  boys  and  I  may  borrow  your  small  son  for  a  few 
weeks  or  a  month,  so  that  one  small  complication  of  a  summer 
in  the  city  will  be  spared  you.  We  are  down  here  on  Long 
Island  on  a  strip  of  high  land  that  runs  between  the  beautiful 
bay  and  the  very  ocean,  and  when  Jim  and  Derry  are  not  in 
the  one  they  are  apt  to  be  in  the  other.  It  will  be  a  great 
joy  to  them  to  have  a  guest,  and  a  delight  to  me  to  take  good 


340  THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL 

care  of  your  boy.     I  think  he  will  enjoy  it,  and  it  will  cer- 
tainly do  him  good. 

"  I  often  think  of  you  with  great  affection,  and  hope  that 
life  is  treating  you  kindly.  Sometimes  I  fancy  that  my  old 
influence  might  have  been  better  for  you  than  it  was,  but 
life  is  mistakes,  after  all,  and  paying  for  them,  and  doing 
better  next  time. 

"Always  affectionately  yours,  RACHAEL." 

Three  days  elapsed  after  this  letter  was  dispatched, 
and  Rachael  had  time  to  wonder  with  a  little  chill 
if  she  had  been  too  cordial  to  Billy,  and  if  Billy  were 
laughing  her  cool  little  laugh  at  her  one-time  step- 
mother's hospitality  and  moralizing. 

But  as  a  matter  of  fact,  the  invitation  could  not  have 
been  more  happily  timed  for  young  Mrs.  Pickering. 
Billy,  without  any  further  notice  to  Magsie,  had 
been  to  see  Magsie's  manager,  coolly  betraying  her 
friend's  marriage  plans,  pledging  the  angry  and 
bewildered  Bowman  to  secrecy,  and  applying  for 
the  position  on  her  own  account  in  the  course  of  one 
brief  visit. 

Bowman  would  not  commit  himself  to  engaging 
Billy,  but  he  was  infinitely  obliged  to  her  for  the  news  of 
Magsie,  and  told  her  so  frankly. 

It  was  when  she  returned  home  from  this  call,  and 
hot  and  weary,  was  trying  to  break  an  absolute  promise 
to  the  boy,  involving  the  Zoo  and  ice-cream,  that 
Rachael's  letter  arrived. 

Billy  read  it  through,  sat  thinking  hard,  and  pres- 
ently read  it  again.  The  softest  expression  her  rather 
hard  young  face  ever  knew  came  over  it  as  she  sat 
there.  This  was  terribly  decent  of  Rachael,  thought 
Billy.  She  must  be  the  busiest  and  happiest  woman 
in  the  world,  and  yet  her  heart  had  gone  out  to  little 
Breck.  The  last  line,  however,  meant  more  than  all 
the  rest,  just  now,  to  Billy  Pickering.  She  was  im- 
pressionable, and  not  given  to  finding  out  the  truths  of 
life  for  herself.  Rachael's  opinions  she  had  always 
respected.  And  now  Rachael  admitted  that  life  was 


THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL  341 

all  mistakes,  and  added  that  heartening  line  about  pay- 
ing for  them,  and  doing  better. 

"  'Cause  I  am  so  hot — and  I  never  had  any  lunch — 
and  you  said  you  would!"  fretted  the  little  boy,  flinging 
himself  against  her,  and  sending  a  wave  of  heat  through 
her  clothing  as  he  did  so. 

"Listen,  Breck,"  she  said  suddenly,  catching  him 
lightly  in  her  arm,  and  smiling  down  at  him,  "would 
you  like  to  go  down  and  stay  with  the  Gregory  boys  ? " 

"I  don't  know  'em,"  said  Breck  doubtfully. 

"Down  on  the  ocean  shore,"  Billy  went  on,  "where 
you  could  go  in  bathing  every  day,  and  roll  in  the  surf, 
and  picnic,  and  sleep  out  of  doors!" 

"Did  they  ask  me?"  he  demanded  excitedly. 

"Their  mother  did,  and  she  says  that  you  can  stay  as 
long  as  you're  a  good  boy,  down  there  where  it's  nice  and 
cool,  digging  in  the  sand,  and  going  bare  foot- 


"I'll  be  the  best  boy  you  ever  saw!"  Breck  sputtered 
eagerly.  "I'll  work  for  her,  and  I'll  make  the  other 
kids  work  for  her — she'll  tell  you  she  never  saw  such  a 
good  boy!  And  I'll  write  you  letters 

"You  won't  have  to  work,  old  man!"  Billy  felt 
strangely  stirred  as  she  kissed  him.  She  watched  him 
as  he  rushed  away  to  break  the  news  of  his  departure 
to  the  stolid  Swedish  girl  in  the  kitchen  and  the  colored 
boy  at  the  elevator.  He  jerked  his  little  bureau  open, 
and  began  to  scramble  among  his  clothes;  he  selected  a 
toy  for  Jim  and  a  toy  for  Deny,  and  his  mother  noticed 
that  they  were  his  dearest  toys.  She  took  him  down- 
town and  bought  him  a  bathing  suit,  and  sandals,  and 
new  pajamas,  and  his  breathless  delight,  as  he  assured 
sympathetic  clerks  that  he  was  going  down  to  the  shore, 
made  her  realize  what  a  lonely,  uncomfortable  little 
fellow  he  had  been  all  these  months.  He  could  hardly 
eat  his  supper  that  night,  and  had  to  be  punished  before 
he  would  even  attempt  to  go  to  sleep,  and  the  next 
morning  he  waked  his  mother  at  six,  and  fairly  danced 
with  impatience  and  anxiety  as  the  last  preparations 
were  made. 


342  THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL 

Billy  took  him  down  to  Clark's  Hills  herself.  She 
had  not  notified  Rachael,  or  answered  her  in  any  way, 
never  questioning  that  Rachael  would  know  her  in- 
vitation to  be  accepted.  But  from  the  big  terminal 
station  she  did  send  a  wire,  and  Rachael  and  the  boys 
met  her  after  the  hot  trip. 

"Billy,  it  was  good  of  you  to  come,"  Rachael  said, 
kissing  her  quite  naturally  as  they  met. 

"I  never  thought  of  doing  anything  else/'  Billy  said, 
breathing  the  fresh  salt  air  with  obvious  pleasure.  "I 
had  no  idea  that  it  was  such  a  trip.  But  he  was  an 
angel — look  at  them  now,  aren't  they  cute  together?" 

Rachael's  boys  had  taken  eager  possession  of  their 
guest;  the  three  were  fast  making  friends  as  they 
trotted  along  together  toward  the  old  motor  car  that 
Rachael  ran  herself. 

"It's  a  joy  to  them,"  their  mother  said.  "Get  in 
here  next  to  me,  Bill;  I'm  not  going  even  to  look  at 
you  until  I  get  you  home.  Did  you  ever  see  the  water 
look  so  delicious?  We'll  all  go  down  for  a  dip  pretty 
soon.  I  live  so  simply  here  that  I'm  entirely  out  of 
the  way  of  entertaining  a  guest,  but  now  that  you're 
here,  you  must  stay  and  have  a  little  rest  yourself!" 

"Oh,  thank  you,  but—  '  Billy  began  in  perfunc- 
tory regret.  Her  tone  changed:  "I  should  love  to!" 
she  said  honestly. 

Rachael  laughed.  "So  funny  to  hear  your  old  voice, 
Bill,  and  your  old  expressions." 

"I  was  just  thinking  that  you've  not  changed  much, 
Rachael."" 

"I?  Oh,  but  I've  gray  hair!  Getting  old  fast, 
Billum." 

"And  how's  Greg?"  Billy  did  not  understand  the 
sudden  shadow  that  fell  across  Rachael's  face,  but  she 
saw  it,  and  wondered. 

"Very  well,  my  dear." 

"Does  he  get  down  here  often?     It's  a  hard  trip." 

"He  always  comes  in  his  car.  They  make  it  in — I 
don't  know — something  like  two  hours  and  ten  minutes, 


THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL  343 

I  think.  This  is  my  house,  with  all  its  hydrangeas  in 
full  bloom.  Yes,  isn't  it  nice?  And  here's  Mary  for 
Breckenridge's  bag." 

Rachael  had  got  out  of  the  car,  and  now  she  gave 
Billy's  boy  her  hand,  and  stood  ready  to  help  him  down. 

"Well,  Breck,"  said  she,  "do  you  think  you  are  going 
to  like  my  house,  and  my  little  boys?  Will  you  give 
Aunt  Rachael  a  kiss?" 

Billy  said  nothing  as  the  child  embraced  his  new- 
found relative  heartily,  nor  when  Rachael  took  her  up- 
stairs to  show  her  the  third  hammock  between  the 
other  two,  and  herself  invested  the  visitor  in  blue  over- 
alls and  a  wide  hat.  But  late  that  evening,  after  a 
silence,  she  said  suddenly: 

"You're  more  charming  than  ever,  Rachael;  you're 
one  of  the  sweetest  women  I  ever  saw!" 

"Thank  you!"  Rachael  said  with  a  little  note  of 
real  pleasure  under  her  laugh. 

"You've  grown  so  gentle,  and  good,"  said  Billy  a 
little  awkwardly.  "Perhaps  it's  just  because  you're 
so  sweet  to  Breck,  and  because  you  have  such  a  nice 
way  with  children,  but  I — I  am  ever  and  ever  so  grateful 
to  you!  I've  often  thought  of  you,  all  this  time,  and 
of  the  old  days,  and  been  glad  that  so  much  happiness 
of  every  sort  has  come  to  you.  At  first  I  felt  dreadfully 
• — at  that  time,  you  know- 
She  stopped  and  faltered,  but  Rachael  looked  at 
her  kindly.  They  were  sitting  on  the  wide  porch, 
under  the  velvet-black  arch  of  the  starry  sky,  and 
watching  the  occasional  twinkle  of  lights  on  the  dark 
surface  of  the  bay. 

"You  may  say  anything  you  like  to  me,  Billy," 
Rachael  said. 

"Well,  it  was  only — you  know  how  I  loved  him — 
Billy  said  quickly.  "I've  so  often  thought  that  per- 
haps you  were  the  only  person  who  knew  what  it  all 
meant  to  me.  I  only  thought  he  would  be  angry  for 
a  while.  I  thought  then  that  Joe  would  surely  win 
him.  And  afterward,  I  thought  I  would  go  crazy^ 


344  THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL 

thinking  of  him  sitting  there  in  the  club.  I  had  failed 
him,  you  know!  I've  never  talked  about  it.  I  guess 
Fm  all  tired  out  from  the  trip  down." 

It  was  clumsily  expressed;  the  words  came  as  if 
every  one  were  wrung  from  the  jealous  silence  of  the 
long  years,  but  presently  Billy  was  beside  Rachael's 
chair,  kneeling  on  the  floor,  and  their  arms  were  about 
each  other. 

"I  killed  him!"  sobbed  Billy.  "He  spoke  of  me  the 
last  of  all.  He  said  to  Berry  Stokes  that  he — he  loved 
me.  And  he  had  a  little  old  picture  of  me — you  re- 
member the  one  in  the  daisy  frame? — over  his  heart. 
Oh,  Daddy,  Daddy! — always  so  good  to  me!" 

"No,  Bill,  you  mustn't  say  that  you  killed  him," 
Rachael  said,  turning  pale.  "If  you  were  to  blame, 
I  was,  too,  and  your  grandmother,  and  all  of  us  who 
made  him  what  he  was.  I  didn't  love  him  when  I 
married  him,  and  he  was  the  sort  of  man  who  has  to 
be  loved;  he  knew  he  wasn't  big,  and  admirable,  and 
strong,  but  many  a  man  like  Clancy  has  been  made  so, 
been  made  worth  while,  by  having  a  woman  believe 
in  him.  I  never  believed  in  him  for  one  second,  and 
he  knew  it.  I  despised  him,  and  where  he  sputtered 
and  stammered  and  raged,  I  was  cool  and  quiet,  and 
smiling  at  him.  It  isn't  right  for  human  beings  to 
feel  that  way.  I  see  it  now.  I  see  now  that  love — love 
is  the  lubricant  everywhere  in  the  world,  Bill.  One 
needn't  be  a  fool  and  be  stepped  upon;  one  has  rights; 
but  if  loving  enough  goes  into  everything,  why,  it's 
bound  to  come  out  right." 

"Oh,  I  do  believe  it!"  said  Billy  fervently,  kneeling 
on  the  floor  at  Rachael's  feet,  her  wet,  earnest  eyes  on 
Rachael's  face,  her  arms  crossed  on  the  older  woman's 
knees. 

"I  believe,"  Rachael  said,  "that  in  those  seven  years 
I  might  have  won  your  father  to  something  better  if 
I  had  cared.  He  wasn't  a  hard  man,  just  desperately 
weak.  I've  thought  of  it  so  often,  of  late,  Bill.  There 
might  have  been  children.  Clancy  had  a  funny  little 


THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL  345 

pathetic  fondness  for  babies.  And  he  was  a  loving 
sort  of  person — 

"Ah,  wasn't  he?"  Billy's  eyes  brimmed  again. 
"Always  that  to  me.  But  not  to  you,  Rachael,  and 
little  cat  that  I  was — I  knew  it.  But  you  see  I  had  no 
particular  reverence  for  marriage,  either.  How  should 
I  ?  Why,  my  own  mother  and  my  half-sisters — hideous 
girls,  they  are,  too — were  pointed  out  to  me  in  Rome 
a  year  ago.  I  didn't  know  them!  I  could  have  made 
your  life  much  easier,  Rachael.  I  wish  I  had.  I  was 
thinking  that  this  afternoon  when  Breck  was  letting 
you  carry  him  out  into  deep  water,  clinging  to  you  so 
cunningly.  He  is  a  cute  little  kid,  isn't  he  ?  And  he'll 
love  you  to  death !  He's  a  great  kisser." 

"He's  a  great  darling,"  smiled  Rachael,  "and  all 
small  boys  I  adore.  He'll  begin  to  put  on  weight  in 
no  time.  And — I  was  thinking,  Bill — he  would  have 
reconciled  Clancy  to  you  and  Joe,  perhaps;  one  can't 
tell!  If  I  had  not  left  him,  Clarence  might  have  been 
living  to-day,  that  I  know.  He  only — did  what  he 
did  in  one  of  those  desperate  lonely  times  he  used  to 
dread  so." 

"Ah,  but  he  was  terrible  to  you,  Rachael!"  Billy  said 
generously.  "You  deserved  happiness  if  anyone  ever 
did!"  Again  she  did  not  understand  Rachael's  sharp 
sigh,  nor  the  little  silence  that  followed  it.  Their  talk 
ran  on  quite  naturally  to  other  topics:  they  discussed 
all  the  men  and  women  of  that  old  world  they  both  had 
known,  the  changes,  the  newcomers,  and  the  empty 

E laces.  Mrs.  Barker  Emory  had  been  much  taken  up 
y  Mary  Moulton,  and  was  a  recognized  leader  at 
Belvedere  Bay  now;  Straker  Thomas  was  in  a  sani- 
tarium; old  Lady  Torrence  was  dead;  Marian  Cowles 
had  snatched  George  Pomeroy  away  from  one  of  the 
Vanderwall  girls  at  the  last  second;  Thomas  Prince 
was  paralyzed;  Agnes  Chase  had  married  a  Denver  man 
whom  nobody  knew;  the  Parker  Hoyts  had  a  delicate 
little  baby  at  last;  Vivian  Sartoris  had  left  her  hus- 
band, nobody  knew  why.  Billy  was  quite  her  old  self 


346  THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL 

as  she  retailed  these  items  and  many  more  for  Rachael's 
benefit. 

But  Rachael  saw  that  the  years  had  made  a  sad 
change  in  her  before  the  three  days'  visit  was  over. 
Poor  little,  impudent,  audacious  Billy  was  gone  forever 
— Billy,  who  had  always  been  so  exquisite  in  dress,  so 
prettily  conspicuous  on  the  floor  of  the  ballroom,  so 
superbly  self-conscious  in  her  yachting  gear,  her  riding- 
clothes,  her  smart  little  tennis  costumes!  She  was 
but  a  shadow  of  her  old  self  now.  The  smart  hats,  the 
silk  stockings,  the  severely  trim  frocks  were  still  hers, 
but  the  old  delicious  youth,  her  roses,  her  limpid  gaze, 
the  velvety  curve  of  throat  and  cheek,  these  were  gone. 
Billy  had  been  spirited,  now  she  was  noisy.  She  had 
been  amusingly  precocious,  now  she  was  assuming  an 
innocence,  a  naivete,  that  were  no  longer  hers,  had 
never  been  natural  to  her  at  any  time.  She  had  al- 
ways been  coolly  indifferent  to  the  lives  of  other  men 
and  women.  Now  she  was  embittered  as  to  her  own 
destiny,  and  full  of  ugly  and  eager  gossip  concerning 
everyone  she  knew.  She  chanced  upon  the  name  of 
Magsie  Clay,  little  dreaming  how  straight  the  blow  went 
to  Rachael's  heart,  but  had  excellent  reasons  of  her 
own  for  not  expressing  the  belief  that  Magsie  would 
soon  leave  the  stage,  and  so  gave  no  hint  of  Magsie's 
rich  and  mysterious  lover.  She  did  tell  Rachael  that 
she  herself  meant  to  go  on  the  stage,  but  imparted 
no  details  as  to  her  hopes  for  doing  so. 

"Just  how  much  motiey  is  left,  Billy?"  Rachael 
presently  felt  herself  justified  in  asking. 

"Oh,  well"-— Billy  had  always  hated  statistics— 
"we  sold  the  Belvedere  Bay  place  last  year,  you  know, 
but  it  was  a  perfect  wreck,  and  the  Moultons  said  they 
had  to  put  seventeen  thousand  dollars  into  repairs, 
but  I  don't  believe  it,  and  that  money,  and  some  other 
things,  were  put  into  the  bank.  Joe  was  just  making 
a  scene  about  it — we  have  to  draw  now  and  then — we 
sank  I  don't  know  what  into  those  awful  ponies,  and 
we  still  have  that  place — it's  a  lovely  house,  but  it 


THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL  347 

doesn't  rent.  It's  too  far  away.  The  kid  adores  it  of 
course,  but  it's  too  far  away,  it  gives  me  the  creeps. 
It's  just  going  to  wreck,  too.  Joe  says  sometimes  that 
he's  going  to  raise  chickens  there.  I  see  him!"  Billy 
scowled,  but  as  Rachael  did  not  speak,  she  presently 
came  back  to  the  topic.  "But  just  how  much  of  my 
money  is  left,  I  don't  know.  There  are  two  houses  in 
East  One  Hundredth — way  over  by  the  river.  Daddy 
took  them  for  some  sort  of  debt." 

Rachael  remembered  them  perfectly.  But  she  could 
not  revert  to  the  days  when  she  was  Clarence's  wife 
without  a  pang,  and  so  let  the  allusion  go. 

"Why  he  took  them  I  don't  know,"  Billy  resumed, 
"ten  flats,  and  all  empty.  They  say  it  would  cost  us 
ten  thousand  dollars  to  get  them  into  shape.  They're 
mortgaged,  anyway." 

"But  Billy,  wouldn't  that  bring  you  in  a  fair  income, 
in  itself,  if  it  was  once  filled  ? " 

"My  dear,  perhaps  it  would.  But  do  you  think 
you  could  get  Joe  Pickering  to  do  it?  As  long  as  the 
money  in  the  bank  lasts — I  forget  what  it  is,  several 
thousand,  more  than  twenty,  I  think — we'll  go  along 
as  we  are.  Joe  has  a  half-interest  in  a  patent,  anyway, 
some  sort  of  curtain-pole;  it's  always  going  to  make  us 
a  fortune!" 

"But,  Billy,  if  you  and  the  boy  took  a  little  place 
somewhere,  and  you  had  one  good  maid — up  there  on 
the  pony  farm,  for  instance — surely  it  would  be  saner, 
surely  it  would  be  wiser,  than  trying  to  think  of  the 
stage  now  with  him  on  your  hands!" 

"Except  that  I  would  simply  die!"  Billy  said.  "I 
love  the  city,  and  the  excitement  of  not  knowing  what 
will  turn  up.  And  if  Joe  would  behave  himself,  and 
if  I  should  make  a  hit,  why,  we'll  be  all  right." 

A  queer,  hectic,  unsatisfying  life  it  must  be,  Rachael 
thought,  saying  good-bye  to  her  guest  a  day  or  two 
later.  Dressing,  rouging,  lacing,  pinning  on  her  out- 
rageously expensive  hats,  jerking  on  her  extravagant 
white  gloves,  drinking,  rushing,  screaming  with  laughter, 


348  THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL 

screaming  with  anger,  Billy  was  one  of  that  large  class 
of  women  that  the  big  city  breeds,  and  that  cannot 
live  elsewhere  than  in  the  big  city.  She  would  ride  in 
a  thousand  taxicabs,  worrying  as  she  watched  the  metre; 
she  would  drink  a  thousand  glasses  of  champagne, 
wondering  anxiously  if  Joe  were  to  pay  for  it;  she 
would  gossip  of  a  dozen  successful  actresses  without  the 
self-control  to  work  for  one-tenth  of  their  success,  and 
she  would  move  through  all  the  life  of  the  theatres  and 
hotels  without  ever  having  her  place  among  them,  and 
her  share  of  their  little  glory.  And  almost  as  reckless 
in  action  as  she  was  in  speech,  she  would  cling  to  the 
brink  of  the  conventions,  never  quite  a  good  woman, 
never  quite  anything  else,  a  fond  and  loyal  if  a  foolish 
and  selfish  mother,  some  day  noisily  informing  her 
admirers  that  she  actually  had  a  boy  in  college,  and 
enjoying  their  flattering  disbelief.  And  so  would  dis- 
appear the  last  of  the  handsome  fortune  that  poor 
Clarence's  father  had  bequeathed  to  him,  and  Clar- 
ence's grandson  must  fight  his  way  with  no  better  start 
than  his  grandfather  had  had  financially,  and  with  an 
infinitely  less  useful  brain  and  less  reliable  pair  of 
hands.  Billy  might  be  widowed  or  freed  in  some  less 
unexceptionable  way,  and  then  Billy  would  marry 
again,  and  it  would  be  a  queer  marriage;  Rachael  could 
read  her  fate  in  her  character. 

She  wondered,  walking  slowly  the  short  mile  that  lay 
between  her  house  and  the  station,  when  Billy  was 
gone,  just  how  a  discerning  eye  might  read  her  own 
fate  in  her  own  character.  Just  what  did  the  confused 
mixture  of  good  motives  and  bad  motives,  erratic 
unselfishnesses  and  even  more  ejrratic  weaknesses 
that  was  Rachael,  deserve  of  Fate?  She  had  bought 
some  knowledge,  but  it  had  been  dearly  bought;  she 
had  bought  some  goodness,  but  at  what  a  cost  of 
pain! 

"I  don't  believe  that  Warren  ever  did  one-tenth  the 
silly  things  we  suspected  him  of!"  Alice  exclaimed  one 


THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL  349 

day.  "I  believe  he  was  just  an  utter  fool,  and  Magsie 
took  advantage  of  it!" 

Rachael  did  not  answer,  but  there  was  no  brighten- 
ing of  her  sombre  look.  Her  eyes,  grave  and  sad,  held 
for  Alice  no  hope  that  she  had  come,  as  George  and 
Alice  had  come,  to  a  softer  view  of  Warren's  offence. 

"I  see  him  always  as  he  was  that  last  horrible  morn- 
ing," she  said  to  Alice.  "And  I  pray  that  I  will  never 
look  upon  his  face  again!"  And  when  presently  Alice 
hinted  that  George  was  receiving  an  occasional  letter 
from  Warren,  Rachael  turned  pale. 

"Don't  quote  it  to  me,  Alice,"  she  said  gently; 
"don't  ask  me  to  hear  it.  It's  all  over.  I  haven't  a 
heart  any  more,  just  a  void  and  a  pain.  You  only 
hurt  me — I  can't  ever  be  different.  You  and  George 
love  me,  I  know  that.  Don't  drive  me  away.  Don't 
ever  feel  that  it  will  be  different  from  what  it  is  now. 
I — I  wish  him  no  ill,  God  knows,  but — I  can't.  It 
wouldn't  be  happiness  for  me  or  for  him.  Please, 
please — -'" 

Alice,  in  tears,  could  only  give  her  her  way. 


352  THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL 

The  man  did  not  answer.  Presently  Magsie  began  to 
speak  in  a  sad,  low  tone. 

"You  can  go  now  if  you  want  to,  Greg.  I'm  not 
going  to  try  to  hold  you.  But  I  know  you'll  come  back 
to  me  to-morrow,  and  tell  me  it  was  all  just  the  trouble 
other  people  tried  to  make  between  us — it  wasn't  really 
you,  the  man  I  love!" 

"I'll  write  you,"  he  said  after  a  silence.  And  from 
the  doorway  he  added,  "Good-bye."  Magsie  did  not 
turn  or  speak;  she  could  not  believe  her  ears  when  she 
heard  the  door  softly  close. 

Next  day  brought  her  only  a  letter  from  the  steamer, 
a  letter  reiterating  his  good-byes,  and  asking  her  again 
to  forgive  him.  Magsie  read  it  in  stupefaction.  He 
was  gone,  and  she  had  lost  him! 

The  first  panic  of  surprise  gave  way  to  more  reason- 
able thinking.  There  were  ways  of  bringing  him  back; 
there  were  arguments  that  might  persuade  Rachael  to 
adhere  to  her  original  resolution.  It  could  not  be 
dropped  so  easily.  Magsie  began  to  wonder  what  a 
lawyer  might  advise.  Billy  came  in  upon  her  irresolute 
musing. 

"Hello,  dearie!  But  I'm  interrupting "  said 

Billy. 

"Oh,  hello,  darling!  No,  indeed  you're  not,"  Magsie 
said,  tearing  up  an  envelope  lazily.  "I  was  trying  to 
write  a  letter,  but  I  have  to  think  it  over  before  it  goes." 

"I  should  think  you  could  write  a  letter  to  your  beau 
vvith  your  eyes  shut,"  Billy  said.  "You've  had  prac- 
tice enough !  I  know  you're  busy,  but  I  won't  interrupt 
you  long.  Upon  my  word,  I  had  a  hard  enough  time 
getting  to  you.  There  was  no  boy  at  the  lift,  and  only 
a  dear  old  Irish  girl  mopping  up  the  floors.  We  had  a 
long  heart-to-heart  talk,  and  I  gave  her  a  dollar." 

"A  dollar!  I'll  have  to  move — you're  raising  the 
price  of  living!"  said  Magsie.  "She's  the  janitor's 
wife,  and  they're  rich  already.  What  possessed  you?" 

"Well,  she  unpinned  her  skirts  and  went  after  the 
boy,"  Billy  said  idly,  "and  it  was  the  only  thing  I  had." 


THE  HEART  OF  R4CHAEL  353 

She  was  trying  quietly  to  see  the  name  on  the  envelope 
Magsie  had  destroyed,  but  being  unsuccessful,  she 
went  on  more  briskly,  "How  is  the  beau,  by  the 
way?" 

"I  wish  I  had  never  seen  the  man!"  Magsie  said, 
glad  to  talk  of  him.  "His  wife  is  raising  the  roof 
now " 

"I  thought  she  would!"  Billy  said  wisely.  "I  didn't 
see  any  woman,  especially  if  she's  not  young,  giving 
all  that  up  without  a  fight!  You  know  I  said  so." 

"I  know  you  did,"  said  Magsie  ruefully.  "But  I 
don't  see  what  she  can  do!" 

"Well,  she  can  refuse  to  give  him  his  divorce,  can't 
she?"  Billy  said  sensibly. 

"  But  can  she  ? "     Magsie  was  obviously  not  sure. 

"Of  course  she  can!" 

"  But  she  doesn't  want  him.     I  went  to  see  her ' 

"Went  to  see  her?  For  heaven's  sake,  what  did  you 
do  that  for?" 

"  Because  I  cared  for  him,"  Magsie  said,  coloring. 

"For  heaven's  sake!  You  had  your  nerve!  And 
what  sort  of  a  person  is  she?" 

"Oh,  beautiful!  I  knew  her  before.  And  she  said 
that  she  would  not  interfere.  She  was  as  willing  as  he 
was;  then " 

"But  now  she's  changed  her  mind?" 

"Apparently."     Magsie  scowled  into  space. 

"Well,  what  does  he  say?"  Billy  asked  after  a  pause- 

"Why,  he  can't — or  he  seems  to  think  he  can't — 
force  her." 

"Well,  I  don't  know  that  he  can — here.  There  are 
states 

"Yes,  I  know,  but  we're  here  in  New  York,"  Magsie 
said  briefly.  A  second  later  she  sat  up,  suddenly 
energetic  and  definite  in  voice  and  manner.  "But 
there  are  ways  of  forcing  her,  as  she  will  soon  see," 
said  Magsie  in  a  venomous  voice.  "I  have  his  letters. 
I  could  put  the  whole  thing  into  a  lawyer's  hands. 
There's  such  a  thing  as — as  a  breach  of  promise  suit " 


354  THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL 

"Not  with  a  married  man,"  Billy  interrupted, 
Magsie  halted,  a  little  dashed. 

"How  do  you  know?"  she  demanded. 

"You'd  have  to  show  you  had  been  injured — and 
you've  known  all  along  he  was  married,"  Billy  said. 

"Well" — Magsie  was  scarlet  with  anger — "I  could 
make  him  sorry,  don't  worry  about  that!"  she  said 
childishly. 

"Of  course,  if  his  wife  did  consent,  and  then  changed 
her  mind,  and  you  sent  his  letters  to  her,"  Billy  said 
after  cogitation.  "It  might — he  may  have  glossed  it 
all  over,  to  her,  you  know." 

"Exactly!"  Magsie  said  triumphantly.  "I  knew 
there  was  a  way!  She's  a  sensitive  woman,  too.  You 
know  you  can't  go  as  far  as  you  like  with  a  girl,  Billy," 
she  went  on  argumentatively,  "without  paying  for  it 
somehow!" 

"Make  him  pay!"  said  the  practical  Billy. 

"I  don't  want — just  money,"  Magsie  said  discon- 
tentedly. "I  want — I  don't  want  to  be  interfered 
with.  I  believe  I  shall  do  just  that,"  she  went  on  with 
a  brightening  eye.  "I'll  write  him " 

"Tell  him.  Ever  so  much  more  effective  than  wrh> 
ing!"  Billy  suggested. 

"Tell  him  then,"  Magsie  did  not  mean  to  betray  his 
identity  if  she  could  help  it,  "that  I  really  will  send 
these  things  on  to  his  wife — that's  just  what  I'll  do!" 

"Are  there  children?"  asked  Billy. 

"Two — girls,"  Magsie  said  with  barely  perceptible 
hesitation. 

"Grown?"  pursued  the  visitor. 

"Ye-es,  I  believe  so."  Magsie  was  too  clever  to 
multiply  unnecessary  untruths.  She  began  to  dress. 

"What  are  you  doing  this  afternoon?"  asked  Billy. 
"I  have  the  Butlers'  car  for  the  day.  Joe  brought  it 
into  town  to  be  fixed,  and  can't  drive  it  out  until  to- 
morrow. We  might  do  something.  It's  a  gorgeous  car." 

"I'm  not  doing  one  thing  in  the  world.  Where's 
Joe?" 


THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL  355 

"Joe  Pickering?"  asked  Billy.  "Oh,  he's  gone  off 
with  some  men  for  some  golf  and  poker.  We  might 
find  someone,  and  go  on  a  party.  Where  could  we 
go — Long  Beach  ?  It's  going  to  be  stifling  hot/' 

"Stay  and  have  lunch  with  me,"  said  Magsie. 

"I  can't  to-day.  I'm  lunching  with  a  theatrical 
man  at  Sherry's.  I  tell  you  I'm  in  deadly  earnest.  I'm 
going  to  break  in!  Suppose  I  come  here  for  you  at  just 
three.  Meanwhile,  you  think  up  someone.  How  about 
Bryan  Masters?" 

Magsie  made  a  face. 

"Well,"  said  Billy,  departing,  "you  think  of  some- 
one, and  I  will.  Perhaps  the  Royces  would  go — a  nice 
little  early  party.  The  worst  of  it  is,  no  one's  in  town ! " 

She  ran  downstairs  and  jumped  into  the  beautiful 
car. 

"Sherry's,  please,  Hungerford,"  said  Billy  easily. 
"And  then  you  might  get  your  lunch,  and  come  for  me 
sharp  at  half-past  two." 

The  man  touched  his  hat.  Billy  leaned  back  against 
the  rich  leather  upholstery  luxuriously;  she  was  ab- 
solutely content.  Joe  was  quiet  and  away,  dear  little 
old  Breck  was  in  seventh  heaven  down  on  the  cool 
seashore,  and  there  was  a  prospect  of  a  party  to-night. 
As  they  rolled  smoothly  downtown  the  passing  throng 
might  well  have  envied  the  complacent  little  figure  in 
coffee-colored  madras  with  the  big  heron  feather  in 
her  hat. 

When  Billy  was  gone,  Magsie,  with  a  thoughtful 
face  and  compressed  lips,  took  two  packages  of  letters 
from  her  desk  and  wrapped  them  for  posting.  She 
fell  into  deep  musing  for  a  few  minutes  before  she 
wrote  Rachael's  name  on  the  wrapper,  but  after  that 
she  dressed  with  her  usual  care,  and  carried  the  pack- 
age to  the  elevator  boy  for  mailing.  As  she  came  back 
to  her  rooms  a  caller  was  announced  and  followed  her 
name  into  Magsie's  apartment  almost  immediately. 
Magsie,  with  a  pang  of  consternation,  found  herself 
facing  Richie  Gardiner's  mother. 


856  THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL 

Anna  would  never  have  permitted  this,  was  Magsie's 
first  resentful  thought,  but  Anna  was  on  a  vacation, 
and  the  elevator  boy  could  not  be  expected  to  dis- 
criminate. 

"Good  morning,  Mrs.  Gardiner,"  said  Magsie; 
"you'll  excuse  my  dressing  all  over  the  place,  but  I 
have  no  maid  this  week.  How's  Richie?" 

Mrs.  Gardiner  was  oblivious  of  anything  amiss. 
She  sat  down,  first  removing  a  filmy  scarf  of  Magsie's 
from  a  chair,  and  smiled,  the  little  muscle-twitching 
smile  of  a  person  in  pain,  as  if  she  hardly  heard  Magsie's 
easy  talk. 

"He  doesn't  seem  to  get  better,  Miss  Clay,"  said  she, 
almost  snorting  in  her  violent  effort  to  breathe  quietly. 
"Doctor  doesn't  say  he  gets  worse,  but  of  course  he 
don't  fool  me — I  know  my  boy's  pretty  sick." 

The  agony  of  helpless  motherhood  was  not  all  lost 
upon  Magsie,  even  though  it  was  displayed  by  a  large, 
plain  woman  in  preposterous  clothes,  strangely  intro- 
duced into  her  pretty  rooms,  and  a  most  incongruous 
figure  there. 

"What  a  shame  !"  she  said  warmly. 

"It's  a  shame  to  anyone  that  knew  Rich  as  I  did  a 
few  years  ago,"  his  mother  said.  "There  wasn't  a 
brighter  nor  a  hardier  child.  It  wasn't  until  we  came 
to  this  city  that  he  begun  to  give  way — and  what  won- 
der? It'a  kill  a  horse  to  live  in  this  place.  I  wish  to 
God  that  I  had  got  him  out  of  it  when  he  had  that  first 
spell.  I  may  be — I  don't  know,  but  I  may  be  too  late 
now."  Tears  came  to  her  eyes,  the  hard  tears  of  a 
proud  and  suffering  woman.  She  took  out  a  folded 
handkerchief  and  pressed  it  unashamedly  to  her  eyes. 
"But  he  wouldn't  go,"  she  resumed,  clearing  her 
throat.  "He  was  going  to  stay  here,  live  or  die.  And 
Miss  Clay,  you  know  why!"  She  stopped  short,  a 
terrible  look  upon  Magsie. 

"I?"  faltered  Magsie,  coloring,  and  feeling  as  if  she 
would  cry  herself. 

"You  kept  him,"  said  his  mother.     "He  hung  round 


THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL  357 

you  like  a  bee  round  a  rose — poor,  sick  boy  that  he  was! 
He's  losing  sleep  now  because  he  can't  get  you  out  of 
his  thoughts." 

She  stopped  again,  and  Magsie  hung  her  head. 

"I'm  sorry,"  she  said  slowly.  And  with  the  childish 
words  came  childish  tears.  "I'm  awfully  sorry,  Mrs. 
Gardiner,"  stammered  Magsie.  "I  know — I've  known 
all  along— how  Richie  feels  to  me.  I  suppose  I  could 
have  stopped  him,  got  him  to  go  away,  perhaps,  in 
time.  But — but  I've  been  unhappy  myself,  Mrs. 
Gardiner.  A  person — I  love  has  been  cruel  to  me. 
I  don't  know  what  I'm  going  to  do.  I  worry  and 
worry!"  Magsie  was  frankly  crying  now.  "I  wish 
there  was  something  I  could  do  for  Richie,  but  I  can't 
tell  him  I  care!"  she  sobbed. 

Both  women  sat  in  miserable  silence  for  a  moment, 
then  Richard  Gardiner's  mother  said: 

"  It  wouldn't  do  you  any  harm  to  just — if  you  would — 
to  just  see  him,  would  it?  Don't  say  anything  about 
this  other  man.  Could  you  do  that?  Couldn't  you  let 
him  think  that  maybe  if  he  went  away  and  came  back 
all  well  you'd — you  might — there  might  be  some  chance 
for  him  ?  Doctor  says  he's  got  to  go  away  at  once  if  he's 
going  to  get  well." 

The  anguish  in  her  voice  and  manner  reached  Magsie 
at  last.  There  was  nothing  cruel  about  the  little 
actress,  however  sordid  her  ambitions  and  however 
selfish  her  plans. 

"Could  you  get  him  away,  now?"  she  said  almost 
timidly.  "  Is  he  strong  enough  to  go  ? " 

"That's  what  Doctor  says;  he  ought  to  go  away 
to-day,  but — but  he  won't  lissen  to  me,"  his  mother 
answered  with  trembling  lips.  "He's  all  I  have.  I 
just  live  for  Rich.  I  loved  his  father,  and  when  Dick 
was  killed  I  had  only  him." 

"I'll  go  see  him,"  said  Magsie  in  sudden  generous 
impulse.  "I'll  tell  him  to  take  care  of  himself.  It's 
simply  wicked  of  him  to  throw  his  life  away  like  this." 

"Miss  Clay,"  said  Mrs.  Gardiner  with  a  break  in  her 


358  THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL 

strong,  deep  voice,  "if  you  do  that — may  the  Lord  send 
you  the  happiness  you  give  my  boy!"  She  began  to 
cry  again. 

"Why,  Mrs.  Gardiner/'  said  Magsie  in  a  hurt,  child- 
ish voice,  "I  like  Richie !" 

"Well,  he  likes  you  all  right,"  said  his  mother  on  a 
long,  quivering  breath.  With  big,  coarse,  tender 
fingers  she  helped  Magsie  with  the  last  hooks  and  bands 
of  her  toilette.  "If  you  ain't  as  pretty  and  dainty  as  a 
little  wax  doll!"  she  observed  admiringly.  Magsie 
merely  sighed  in  answer.  Wax  dolls  had  their  troubles! 

But  she  liked  the  doglike  devotion  of  Richie's  big 
mother,  and  the  beautiful  car — Richie's  car.  Perhaps 
the  hurt  to  her  heart  and  her  pride  had  altered  Magsie's 
sense  of  values.  At  all  events,  she  did  not  even  shrink 
from  Richie  to-day. 

She  sat  down  beside  the  white  bed,  beside  the  bony 
form  that  the  counterpane  revealed  in  outline,  and 
smiled  at  Richie's  dark,  thin  eager  face  and  sunken, 
adoring  eyes.  She  laid  her  warm,  plump  little  hand 
between  his  long,  thin  fingers.  After  a  while  the  nurse 
timidly  suggested  the  detested  milk;  Richie  drank  it 
dutifully  for  Magsie. 

They  were  left  together  in  the  coolr  airy,  orderly 
room,  and  in  low,  confidential  tones  they  talked. 
Magsie  was  well  aware  that  the  big  doctors  themselves 
would  not  interrupt  this  talk,  that  the  nurses  and  the 
mother  were  keeping  guard  outside  the  door.  Richie 
was  conscious  of  nothing  but  Magsie. 

In  this  hour  the  girl  thought  of  the  stormy  years 
that  were  past  and  the  stormy  future.  She  had  played 
her  last  card  in  the  game  for  Warren  Gregory's  love. 
The  letters,  without  an  additional  word,  were  gone  to 
Rachael.  If  Rachael  chose  to  use  them  against  War- 
ren, then  the  road  for  Magsie,  if  long,  was  unobstructed. 
But  suppose  Rachael,  with  that  baffling  superiority  of 
hers,  decided  not  to  use  them? 

Magsie  had  seriously  considered  and  seriously  aban- 
doned the  idea  of  holding  out  several  letters  from  the 


THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL  359 

packages,  but  the  letters,  as  legal  documents,  had  no 
value  to  anyone  but  Rachael.  If  Rachael  chose  to 
forgive  and  ignore  the  writing  of  them,  they  were  so 
much  waste  paper,  and  Magsie  had  no  more  hold  over 
Warren  than  any  other  young  woman  of  his  acquaint- 
ance. 

But  Magsie  was  more  or  less  committed  to  a  complete 
change.  The  break  with  Bowman  could  not  be 
avoided  without  great  awkwardness  now.  She  despised 
herself  for  having  so  simply  accepted  a  bank  account 
from  Warren,  yet  what  else  could  she  do?  Magsie 
had  wanted  money  all  her  life,  and  when  that  money 

was  gone Richie  was  falling  into  a  doze,  his  hand 

still  tightly  clasping  hers.  She  slipped  to  her  knees  be- 
side the  bed,  and  as  he  lazily  opened  his  eyes  she  gave 
him  a  smile  that  turned  the  room  to  Heaven  for  him. 
When  a  nurse  peeped  cautiously  in,  a  warning  nod  from 
Magsie  sent  the  surprised  and  delighted  woman  away 
again  with  the  great  news.  Mr.  Gardiner  was  asleep ! 

The  clock  struck  twelve,  struck  one,  still  Magsie 
knelt  by  the  bedside,  watching  the  sleeping  face.  Out- 
side the  city  was  silent  under  the  summer  sun.  In  the 
great  hospital  feet  cheeped  along  wide  corridors,  now 
and  then  a  door  was  opened  or  closed.  There  was  no 
other  sound. 

Magsie  eyed  her  charge  affectionately.  When  he 
had  come  to  her  dressing-room  in  former  days  trying 
to  ignore  his  cough,  trying  to  take  her  about  and  to 
order  her  suppers  as  the  other  men  did,  he  had  been 
vaguely  irritating;  but  here  in  this  plain  little  bed,  so 
boyish,  so  dependent,  so  appreciative,  he  seemed  more 
attractive  than  he  ever  had  before.  Whatever  there 
was  maternal  in  Magsie  rose  to  meet  his  need.  She 
could  not  but  be  impressed  by  the  royal  solicitude  that 
surrounded  the  heir  to  the  "Little  Dick  Mine."  Mrs. 
Richard  Gardiner  would  be  something  of  a  personage, 
thought  Magsie  dreamily.  He  might  not  live  long! 

Of  course,  that  was  calculating  and  despicable; 
$he  was  not  the  woman  to  marry  where  she  did  not  love! 


360  THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL 

But  then  she  really  did  love  Richie  in  a  way.  And 
Richie  loved  her — no  question  of  that!  Loved  her 
more  than  Warren  did  for  all  his  letters  and  gifts, 
she  decided  resentfully. 

When  Richie  wakened,  bewildered,  at  one  o'clock, 
Magsie  was  still  there.  She  insisted  that  he  drink  more 
milk  before  a  word  was  said.  Then  they  talked  again, 
Magsie  in  a  new  mood  of  reluctance  and  gentleness, 
Richie  half  wild  with  rising  hope  and  joy. 

"And  you  would  want  me  to  marry  you,  feeling  this 
way?"  Magsie  faltered. 

"Oh,  Magsie!"  he  whispered. 

A  tear  fell  on  the  thin  hand  that  Magsie  was  patting. 
Through  dazzled  eyes  she  saw  the  future:  reckless 
buying  of  gowns — brief  and  few  farewells — the  private 
car,  the  adoring  invalid,  the  great  sunny  West  with  its 
forests  and  beaches,  the  plain  gold  ring  on  her  little 
hand.  In  the  whole  concerned  group— doctor,  nurse, 
valet,  mother,  maid — young  Mrs.  Gardiner  would  be 
supreme!  She  saw  herself  flitting  about  a  California 
bungalow,  lending  her  young  strength  to  Richie's  in- 
creasing strength  in  the  sunwashed,  health-giving  air. 

She  put  her  arms  about  him,  laid  her  rosy  cheek 
against  his  pale  one. 

"And  you  really  want  me  to  go  out,"  Magsie  began, 
smiling  through  tears,  "and  get  a  nice  special  license 
and  a  nice  little  plain  gold  ring  and  come  back  here  with 
a  nice  kind  clergyman,  and  say  'I  will' " 

But  at  this  her  tears  again  interrupted  her,  and  Rich- 
ard, clinging  desperately  to  her  hand,  could  not  speak 
either  for  tears.  His  mother  who  had  silently  entered 
the  room  on  Magsie's  last  words  suddenly  put  her  fat 
arms  about  her  and  gave  her  the  great  motherly  em- 
brace for  which,  without  knowing  it,  she  had  hungered 
for  years,  and  they  all  fell  to  planning. 

Richard  could  help  only  with  an  occasional  assent. 
There  was  nothing  to  which  he  would  not  consent  now. 
They  would  be  married  as  soon  as  Magsie  and  his 
mother  could  get  back  with  the  necessities.  And  then 


THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL  361 

would  he  drink  his  milk,  good  boy — and  go  straight 
to  sleep,  good  boy.  Then  to-morrow  he  should  be 
helped  into  the  softest  motor  car  procurable  for  money, 
and  into  the  private  car  that  his  mother  and  Magsie 
meant  to  engage,  by  hook  or  crook,  to-night.  In  six 
days  they  would  be  watching  the  blue  Pacific,  and  in 
three  weeks  Richie  should  be  sleeping  out  of  doors  and 
coming  downstairs  to  meals.  He  had  only  to  obey 
his  mother;  he  had  only  to  obey  his  wife.  Magsie 
kissed  him  good-bye  tenderly  before  leaving  him  for 
the  hour's  absence.  Her  heart  was  twisting  little 
tendrils  about  him  already.  He  was  a  sweet,  patient 
dear,  she  told  his  mother,  and  he  would  simply  have  to 
get  well ! 

"God  above  bless  and  reward  you,  Margaret!"  was 
all  Mrs.  Gardiner  could  say,  but  Magsie  never  tired  of 
hearing  it. 

When  the  two  women  went  down  the  hospital  steps 
they  found  Billy  Pickering,  in  her  large  red  car,  eying 
them  reproachfully  from  the  curb. 

"This  is  a  nice  way  to  act!"  Billy  began.  "Your 
janitor's  wife  said  you  had  come  here.  I've  got  two 
men "  Magsie's  expression  stopped  her. 

"This  is  Mr.  Gardiner's  mother,  Billy,"  Magsie  said 
solemnly.  "The  doctors  agree  that  he  must  not  stand 
this  climate  another  day.  He  had  another  sinking 
spell  yesterday,  and  he — he  mustn't  have  another!  I 
am  going  with  them  to  California " 

"You  are  ? "  Billy  ejaculated  in  amazement.  Magsie 
bridled  in  becoming  importance. 

"It  is  all  very  sudden,"  she  said  with  the  weary,  pa- 
tient smile  of  the  invalid's  wife,  "but  he  won't  go  with- 
out me."  And  then,  as  Mrs.  Gardiner  began  to  give 
directions  to  the  driver  of  her  own  car,  which  was  wait- 
ing, she  went  on  inconsequentially,  and  in  a  low  and 
troubled  undertone,  "I  didn't  know  what  to  do.  Do 
— do  you  think  I'm  a  fool,  Billy?" 

" But  what'll  the  other  man  say?"  demanded  Billy. 


362  THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL 

Magsie,  leaning  against  the  door  of  the  car,  rubbed 
the  polished  wood  with  a  filmy  handkerchief. 

"He  won't  know,"  she  said. 

"Won't  know ?     But  what  will  you  tell  him ? " 

"Oh,  he's  not  here.  He  won't  be  back  for  ever  so 
long.  And — and  Richie  can't  live — they  all  say  that. 
So  if  I  come  back  before  he  does,  what  earthly  difference 
can  it  make  to  him  that  I  was  married  to  Richie? " 

" Married!"  For  once  in  her  life  Billy  was  com- 
pletely at  a  loss.  "But  are  you  going  to  marry 
him  ? " 

Magsie  gave  her  a  solemn  look,  and  nodded  gravely. 
"He  loves  me,"  she  said  in  a  soft  injured  tone,  "and 
I  mean  to  take  as  good  care  of  him  as  the  best  wife  in 
the  world  could !  I'm  sick  of  the  stage,  and  if  anything 
happens  with — the  other,  I  shan't  have  to  worry- 
about  money,  I  mean.  I'm  not  a  fool,  Billy.  I  can't 
let  a  chance  like  this  slip.  Of  course  I  wouldn't  do  it 
if  I  didn't  like  him  and  like  his  mother,  too.  And  Fll 
bet  he  will  get  well,  and  I'll  never  come  back  to  New 
York!  Of  course  this  is  all  a  secret.  We're  going 
right  down  to  the  City  Hall  for  the  license  now,  and 
the  ring—  There  are  a  lot  of  clothes  I've  got  to  buy 
immediately " 

"Why  don't  you  let  me  run  you  about?"  suggested 
Billy.  "I  don't  have  to  meet  the  men  until  six — Fll 
have  to  round  up  another  girl,  too;  but  I'd  love  to. 
Let  Mama  go  back  to  Mr.  Gardiner!" 

"Oh,  I  couldn't,"  Magsie  said,  quite  the  dutiful 
daughter.  "She's  a  wonderful  person;  she's  arranging 
for  our  own  private  car,  and  a  cook,  and  I  may  take 
Anna  if  I  can  get  her!" 

"All  righto!  "agreed  Billy. 

A  rather  speculative  look  came  into  her  face  as  the 
other  car  whirled  away.  She  suddenly  gave  directions 
to  the  driver. 

"Drive  to  Miss  Clay's  apartment,  where  you  picked 
me  up  this  morning,  Hungerford!"  she  said  quickly. 
"I — I  think  I  left  something  there — gloves " 


THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL  363 

"I  wonder  if  you  would  let  me  into  Miss  Clay's 
apartment?"  she  said  to  the  beaming  janitor's  wife 
fifteen  minutes  later.  "Miss  Clay  isn't  here,  and  I  left 
my  gloves  in  her  rooms." 

Something  in  Magsie's  manner  had  made  her  feel 
that  Magsie  had  good  reason  for  keeping  the  name  of 
her  admirer  hid.  Billy  had  felt  for  weeks  that  she 
would  know  the  name  if  Magsie  ever  divulged  it. 
And  this  morning  she  had  noticed  the  admission  that 
the  wronged  wife  was  a  beautiful  woman — and  the 
hesitation  with  which  Magsie  had  answered  "Two 
girls."  Then  Magsie  had  said  that  she  would  "write 
him,"  not  at  all  the  natural  thing  to  do  to  a  man  one 
was  sure  to  see,  and  Rachael  had  said  that  Warren  was 
away!  But  most  significant  of  all  was  her  answer  to 
Billy's  question  as  to  whether  the  children  were  grown. 
Magsie  had  admitted  that  she  knew  the  wife,  had 
"  known  her  before,"  and  yet  she  pretended  not  to  know 
whether  or  not  the  children  were  grown.  Billy  had 
had  just  a  fleeting  idea  of  Warren  Gregory  before  that,  but 
this  particular  term  confirmed  the  suspicion  suddenly. 

So  while  Magsie  was  getting  her  marriage  license, 
Billy  was  in  Magsie's  apartment  turning  over  the 
contents  of  her  wastepaper  basket  in  feverish  haste. 
The  envelope  was  ruined,  it  had  been  crushed  while 
wet;  a  name  had  been  barely  started  anyway.  But 
here  was  the  precious  scrap  of  commencement,  "My 
dearest  Greg " 

Billy  was  almost  terrified  by  the  discovery.  There 
it  was,  in  irrefutable  black  and  white.  She  stuffed  it 
back  into  the  basket,  and  left  the  house  like  a  thief, 
panting  for  the  open  air.  A  suspicion  only  ten  minutes 
before,  now  she  felt  as  if  no  other  fact  on  earth  had  ever 
so  fully  possessed  her.  For  an  hour  she  drove  about  in 
a  daze.  Then  she  went  home,  and  sat  down  at  her 
desk,  and  wrote  the  following  letter: 

"Mv  DEAR  RACHAEL:  The  letter  with  the  darling  little 
*B*  came  yesterday.  I  think  he  is  cute  to  learn  to  write  his 


364  THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL 

own  letter  so  quickly.  Tell  him  that  mother  is  proud  of 
him  for  picking  so  many  blackberries,  and  will  love  the  jam. 
It  is  as  hot  as  fire  here,  and  the  park  has  that  steamy  smell 
that  a  hothouse  has.  I  have  been  driving  about  in  Joe 
Butler's  car  all  afternoon.  We  are  going  to  Long  Beach 
to-night. 

"Rachael — Magsie  Clay  and  a  man  named  Richard 
Gardiner  were  married  this  afternoon.  He  is  an  invalid  or 
something;  he  is  at  St.  Luke's  Hospital,  and  she  and  his 
mother  are  going  to  take  him  to  California  at  once.  What 
do  you  know  about  that  ?  Of  course  this  is  a  secret,  and  for 
Heaven's  sake,  if  you  tell  anybody  this,  don't  say  I  gave  it 
away. 

"If  Magsie  Clay  should  send  you  a  bunch  of  letters,  she 
will  just  do  it  to  be  a  devil,  and  I  want  to  ask  you  to  burn 
them  up  before  you  read  them.  You  know  how  you  talked 
to  me  about  divorce,  Rachael!  What  you  don't  know  can't 
hurt  you.  Don't  please  Magsie  Clay  to  the  extent  of  doing 
exactly  what  she  wants  you  to  do.  If  anyone  you  love  has 
been  a  fool,  why,  it  is  certainly  hard  to  understand  how  they 
could,  but  you  stand  by  what  you  said  to  me  the  other  day, 
and  forget  it. 

"  I  feel  as  if  I  was  breaking  into  your  own  affairs.  I  hope 
you  won't  care,  and  that  I'm  not  all  in  the  dark  about  this. 
"Affectionately,  BILLY." 


CHAPTER  VI 

THIS  letter,  creased  from  constant  reading,  Rachael 
showed  to  George  Valentine  a  week  later.  The  doctor, 
who  had  spent  the  week-end  with  his  family  at  Clark's 
Hills,  was  in  his  car  and  running  past  the  gate  of  Home 
Dunes  on  his  way  back  to  town  when  Rachael  stopped 
him.  She  looked  her  composed  and  dignified  self  in 
her  striped  blue  linen  and  deep-brimmed  hat,  but  the 
man's  trained  look  found  the  circles  about  her  won- 
derful eyes,  and  he  detected  signs  of  utter  weariness 
in  her  voice. 

"Read  this,  George,"  said  she,  resting  against  the 
door  of  his  car,  and  opening  the  letter  before  him. 
"This  came  from  Billy — Mrs.  Pickering,  you  know — • 
several  days  ago." 

George  read  the  document  through  twice,  then 
raised  questioning  eyes  to  hers,  and  made  the  mouth  of 
a  whistler. 

"What  do  you  think?"  Rachael  questioned  in  her 
turn. 

"Lord!  I  don't  know  what  to  think,"  said  George. 
"Do  you  suppose  this  can  be  true?" 

Rachael  sighed  wearily,  staring  down  the  road  under 
the  warming  leaves  of  the  maples  into  a  far  vista  of 
bare  dunes  in  thinning  September  sunshine. 

"It  might  be,  I  suppose.  You  can  see  that  Billy 
believes  it,"  she  said. 

"Sure,  she  believes  it,"  George  agreed.  "At  least, 
we  can  find  out.  But  I  don't  understand  it!" 

"Understand  it?"  she  echoed  in  rich  scorn.  "Who 
understands  anything  of  the  whole  miserable  business  ? 
Do  I  ?  Does  Warren,  do  you  suppose  ? " 

"No,  of  course  nobody  does,"  George  said  hastily 

365 


366  THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL 

in  distress.  He  regarded  the  paper  almost  balefully. 
"This  is  the  deuce  of  a  thing!"  he  said.  "If  she  didn't 
care  for  him  any  more  than  that,  what's  all  the  fuss 
about?  I  don't  believe  the  threat  about  sending  his 
letters,  anyway!"  he  added  hardily. 

"Oh,  that  was  true  enough,"  Rachael  said  lifelessly. 
"They  came." 

George  gave  her  an  alarmed  glance,  but  did  not  speak. 

"A  great  package  of  them  came,"  Rachael  added 
dully.  "I  didn't  open  it.  I  had  a  fire  that  morning, 
and  I  simply  set  it  on  the  fire."  Her  voice  sank,  her 
eyes,  brooding  and  sombre,  were  far  away.  "But  I 
watched  it  burning,  George,"  she  said  in  a  low,  absent 
tone,  "and  I  saw  his  handwriting — how  well  I  know  it 
— Warren's  writing,  on  dozens  and  dozens  of  letters — 
there  must  have  been  a  hundred!  To  think  of  it — to 
think  of  it!" 

Her  voice  was  like  some  living  thing  writhing  in 
anguish.  George  could  think  of  nothing  to  say.  He 
looked  about  helplessly,  buttoned  a  glove  button 
briskly,  folded  the  letter,  and  made  some  work  of  putting 
it  away  in  an  inside  pocket. 

"Well,"  Rachael  said,  straightening  up  suddenly, 
and  with  resolute  courage  returning  to  her  manner  and 
voice,  "you'll  have  somebody  look  it  up,  will  you, 
George?" 

"You  may  depend  upon  it — immediately,"  George 
said  huskily.  "It — of  course  it  will  make  an  immense 
difference,"  he  added,  in  his  anxiety  to  be  reassuring 
saying  exactly  the  wrong  thing. 

Rachael  was  pale. 

"I  don't  know  how  anything  can  make  a  great  dif- 
ference now,  George,"  she  answered  slowly.  "The 
thing  remains — a  fact.  Of  course  this  ends,  in  one 
way,  the  sordid  side,  the  fear  of  publicity,  of  notoriety. 
But  that  wasn't  the  phase  of  it  that  ever  counted  with 
me.  This  will  probably  hurt  Warren " 

"Oh,  Rachael,  dear  old  girl,  don't  talk  that  way!" 
George  protested.  "You  can't  believe  that  Warren 


THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL  367 

will  feel  anything  but  a — a  most  unbelievable  relief! 
We  all  know  that.  He's  not  the  first  man  who  let  a 
pretty  face  drive  him  crazy  when  he  was  working  him- 
self to  death."  George  was  studying  her  as  he  spoke, 
with  all  his  honest  heart  in  his  look,  but  Rachael  merely 
shook  her  head  forlornly. 

"Perhaps  I  don't  understand  men,"  she  said  with 
a  mildness  that  George  found  infinitely  more  disturb- 
ing than  any  fury  would  have  been. 

"Well,  I'll  look  up  records  at  the  City  Hall,"  he  said 
after  a  pause.  "That's  the  first  thing  to  do.  And 
then  I'll  let  ypu  know.  Boys  well  this  morning?" 

"Lovely,"  Rachael  smiled.  "My  trio  goes  fishing 
to-day,  packing  its  lunch  itself,  and  asking  no  feminine 
assistance.  The  lunch  will  be  eaten  by  ten  o'clock, 
and  the  boys  home  at  half-past  ten,  thinking  it  is 
almost  sundown.  They  only  go  as  far  as  the  cove, 
where  the  men  are  working,  and  we  can  see  the  tops  of 
their  h^ads  from  the  upstairs'  porch,  so  Mary  and  I 
won't  feel  entirely  unprotected.  I'm  to  lunch  with 
Alice,  so  my  day  is  nicely  planned!" 

The  bright  look  did  not  deceive  him,  nor  the  reassur- 
ing tone.  But  George  Valentine's  friendship  was  more 
easily  displayed  by  deeds  than  words,  and  now,  with 
an  affectionate  pat  for  her  hand,  he  touched  his  starter, 
and  the  car  leaped  upon  its  way.  Just  four  hours 
later  he  telephoned  Alice  that  the  wedding  license  of 
Margaret  Rose  Clay  and  Richard  Gardiner  had  in- 
deed been  issued  a  week  before,  and  that  Magsie  was 
not  to  be  found  at  her  apartment,  which  was  to  be 
sublet  at  the  janitor's  discretion;  that  Bowman's  secre- 
tary reported  the  absence  of  Miss  Clay  from  the  city, 
and  the  uncertainty  of  her  appearing  in  any  of  Mr. 
Bowman's  productions  that  winter,  and  that  at  the 
hospital  a  confident  inquiry  for  "Mr.  and  Mrs.  Gardi- 
ner" had  resulted  in  the  discreet  reply  that  "the  par- 
ties" had  left  for  California.  George,  with  what  was 
for  him  a  rare  flash  of  imagination,  had  casually  in- 
quired as  to  the  name  of  the  clergyman  who  had  per- 


368  THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL 

formed  the  ceremony,  being  answered  dispassionately 
that  the  person  at  the  other  end  of  the  telephone 
"didn't  know." 

"George,  you  are  an  absolute  wonder  !"  said  Alice's 
proud  voice,  faintly  echoed  from  Clark's  Hills.  "Now, 
shall  you  cable — anybody — you  know  who  I  mean  ? " 

"I  have,"  answered  the  efficient  George,  "already." 

"Oh,  George!    And  what  will  he  do?" 

"Well,  eventually,  he'll  come  back." 

"  Do  you  think  so  ?    I  don't ! " 

"Well,  anyway,  we'll  see." 

"And  you're  an  angel,"  said  Mrs.  Valentine,  finishing 
the  conversation. 

Ten  days  later  Warren  Gregory  walked  into  George 
Valentine's  office,  and  the  two  men  gripped  hands  with- 
out speaking.  That  Warren  had  left  for  America  the 
day  George's  cable  reached  him  there  was  no  need  to 
say.  That  he  was  a  man  almost  sick  with  empty 
days  and  brooding  nights  there  was  no  need  to  say. 
George  was  shocked  in  the  first  instant  of  meeting, 
and  found  himself,  as  they  talked  together,  increasingly 
shocked  at  the  other's  aspect. 

Warren  was  thin,  his  hair  actually  showed  more 
gray,  there  were  deep  lines  about  his  mouth.  But  it 
was  not  only  that;  his  eyes  had  a  tired  and  haunted 
look  that  George  found  sad  to  see,  his  voice  had  lost 
its  old  confident  ring,  and  he  seemed  weary  and  shaken. 
He  asked  for  Alice  and  the  children,  and  for  Rachael 
and  the  boys. 

"Rachael's  well,"  George  said.  "She  looks— well, 
she  shows  what  she's  been  through;  but  she's  very 
handsome.  And  the  boys  are  fine.  We  had  the  whole 
crowd  down  as  far  as  Shark  Light  for  a  picnic  last 
Sunday.  Rachael  has  little  Breck  Pickering  down 
there  now;  he's  a  nice  little  chap,  younger  than  our 
Katrina — Jim's  age.  The  youngster  is  in  paradise, 
sure  enough,  and  putting  on  weight  at  a  great  rate." 

"I  didn't  know  he  was  there,"  Warren  said  slowly. 


THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL  369 

"Like  her — to  take  him  in.  I  wish  I  had  been  there — 
Sunday.  I  wish  to  the  Lord  that  it  was  all  a  horrible 
dream !" 

He  stopped  and  sat  silent,  looking  gloomily  at  the 
floor,  his  whole  figure,  George  thought,  indicating  a 
broken  and  shamed  spirit. 

"Well,  Magsie's  settled,  at  least,"  said  George  after 
a  silence. 

"Yes.  That  wasn't  what  counted,  though,"  Warren 
said,  as  Rachael  had  said.  "She  is  settled  without 
my  moving;  there's  no  way  in  which  I  can  ever  make 
Rachael  feel  that  I  would  have  moved."  Again  his 
voice  sank  into  silence,  but  presently  he  roused  him- 
self. "I've  come  back  to  work,  George,"  he  said 
with  a  quiet  decision  of  manner  that  George  found 
new  and  admirable.  "That's  all  I  can  do  now.  If  she 
ever  forgives  me — but  she's  not  the  kind  that  forgives. 
She's  not  weak — Rachael.  But  anyway,  I  can  work. 
I'll  go  to  the  old  house,  for  the  present,  and  get  things  in 
order.  And  you  drop  a  hint  to  Alice,  when  she  talks 
to  Rachael,  that  I've  not  got  anything  to  say.  I'll 
not  annoy  her." 

George's  heart  ached  for  him  as  Warren  suddenly 
covered  his  face  with  his  hands.  Warren  had  always 
been  the  adored  younger  brother  to  him,  Warren's 
wonderful  fingers  over  the  surgical  table,  a  miracle 
that  gave  their  owner  the  right  to  claim  whatever 
human  weaknesses  and  failings  he  might,  as  a  balance. 
George  had  never  thought  him  perfect,  as  so  much  of 
the  world  thought  him;  to  George,  Warren  had  always 
been  a  little  more  than  perfect,  a  machine  of  inspired 
surgery,  underbalanced  in  many  ways  that  in  this  one 
supreme  way  he  might  be  more  than  human.  George 
had  to  struggle  for  what  he  achieved;  Warren  achieved 
by  divine  right.  The  women  were  in  the  right  of  it 
now,  George  conceded,  they  had  the  argument.  But 
of  course  they  didn't  understand — a  thing  like  that  had 
nothing  to  do  with  Warren's  wife;  Rachael  wasn't 
brought  into  the  question  at  all.  And  Lord!  when  all 


370  THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL 

was  said  and  done  Warren  was  Warren,  and  profession- 
ally the  biggest  figure  in  George's  world. 

"I  don't  suppose  you  feel  like  taking  Hudson's 
work?"  said  George  now.  "He's  crazy  to  get  away, 
and  he  was  telling  me  yesterday  that  he  didn't  see 
himself  breaking  out  of  it.  Mrs.  Hudson  wants  to 
go  to  her  own  people,  in  Montreal,  and  I  suppose  Jack 
would  be  glad  to  go,  too." 

"Take  it  in  a  minute!"  Warren  said,  his  whole  ex- 
pression changing.  "Of  course  I'll  take  it.  I'm  going 
to  spend  this  afternoon  getting  things  into  shape  at 
the  house,  and  I  think  I'll  drop  round  at  the  hospital 
about  five.  But  I  can  start  right  in  to-morrow." 

"It  isn't  too  much?"  George  asked   affectionately. 

"Too  much?  It's  the  only  thing  that  will  save  my 
reason,  I  think,"  Warren  answered,  and  after  that 
George  said  no  more. 

The  two  men  lunched  together,  and  dined  together, 
five  times  a  week,  with  a  curious  change  from  old 
times :  it  was  Warren  who  listened,  and  George  who  did 
the  talking  now.  They  talked  of  cases  chiefly,  for 
Warren  was  working  day  and  night,  and  thought  of 
little  else  than  his  work;  but  once  or  twice,  as  September 
waned,  and  October  moved  toward  its  close,  there 
burst  from  him  an  occasional  inquiry  as  to  his  wife. 

"Will  she  ever  forgive  me,  George?"  Warren  asked 
one  cool  autumn  dawning  when  the  two  men  were 
walking  away  from  the  hospital  under  the  fading  stars. 
Warren  had  commenced  an  operation  just  before  mid- 
night, it  was  only  concluded  now,  and  George,  who  had 
remained  beside  him  for  sheer  admiration  of  his  daring 
and  his  skill,  had  suggested  that  they  walk  for  a  while, 
and  shake  off  the  atmosphere  of  ether  and  of  pain. 
"It's  a  time  like  this  I  miss  her,"  Warren  said.  "I 
took  it  all  for  granted,  then.  But  after  such  a  night 
as  this,  when  I  would  go  home  in  those  first  years,  and 
creep  into  bed,  she  was  never  too  sleepy  to  rouse  and 
ask  me  how  the  case  went,  she  never  failed  to  see  that 
the  house  was  quiet  the  next  morning,  and  she'd  bring 


THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL  371 

in  my  tray  herself — Lord,  a  woman  like  that,  waiting 
on  me!" 

George  shook  his  head  but  did  not  speak.  They 
walked  an  echoing  block  or  two  in  silence. 

"George,  I  need  my  wife,"  Warren  said  then.  "There 
isn't  an  hour  of  my  life  that  some  phase  of  our  life  to- 
gether doesn't  come  back  to  me  and  wring  my  heart. 
I  don't  want  anything  else — our  sons,  our  fireside,  our 
interests  together.  I've  heard  her  voice  ever  since. 
And  I'm  changed,  George,  not  in  what  I  always  be- 
lieved, because  I  know  right  from  wrong,  and  always 
have,  but  I  don't  believe  in  myself  any  more.  I  want 
my  kids  to  be  taught  laws — not  their  own  laws.  I 
want  to  go  on  my  knees  to  my  girl " 

His  voice  thickened  suddenly,  and  they  walked  on 
with  no  attempt  on  either  side  to  end  the  silence  for  a 
long  time.  The  city  streets  were  wet  from  a  rain,  but 
day  was  breaking  in  hopeful  pearl  and  rose. 

"I  can  say  this,"  said  George  at  last:  "I  believe  that 
she  needs  you  as  much  as  you  do  her.  But  Rachael's 
proud " 

"Ah,  yes,  she's  that!"  Warren  said  eagerly  as  he 
paused. 

"And  Warren,  she  has  been  dragged  through  the 
muck  during  the  last  few  years,"  George  resumed  in  a 
mildly  expostulatory  tone. 

"Oh,  I  know  it!"  Warren  answered,  stricken. 

"She  hates  coarseness,"  pursued  George,  "she  hates 
weakness.  I  believe  that  if  ever  a  divorce  was  justified 
in  this  world,  hers  was.  But  to  have  you  come  back 
at  her,  to  have  Magsie  Clay  break  in  on  her,  and  begin 
to  yap  breezily  about  divorce,  and  how  prevalent  it  is, 
and  what  a  solution  it  is,  why,  of  course  it  was  enough 
to  break  her  heart!" 

"Don't!"  Warren  said  thickly,  quickening  his  pace, 
as  if  to  walk  away  from  his  own  insufferable  thoughts. 

For  many  days  they  did  not  speak  of  Rachael  again; 
indeed  George  felt  that  there  was  nothing  further  to 
say.  He  feared  in  his  own  heart  that  nothing  would 


372  THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL 

ever  bring  about  a  change  in  her  feeling,  or  rather,  that 
the  change  that  had  been  taking  place  in  her  for  so 
many  weeks  was  one  that  would  be  lasting,  that  Rachael 
was  an  altered  woman. 

Alice  believed  this,  too,  and  Rachael  believed  it  most 
of  all.  Indeed,  over  Rachael's  torn  and  shaken  spirit 
there  had  fallen  of  late  a  peace  and  a  sense  of  security 
that  she  had  never  before  known  in  her  life.  She  tried 
not  to  think  of  Warren  any  more,  or  at  least  to  think 
of  him  as  he  had  been  in  the  happy  days  when  they 
had  been  all  in  all  to  each  other.  If  other  thoughts 
would  creep  in,  and  her  heart  grow  hot  and  bitter  within 
her  at  the  memory  of  her  wrongs,  she  resolutely  fought 
for  composure;  no  matter  now  what  he  had  been  or  done, 
that  life  was  dead.  She  had  her  boys,  the  sunsets  and 
sunrises,  the  mellowing  beauty  of  the  year.  She  had 
her  books,  and  above  all  her  memories.  And  in  these 
memories  she  found  much  to  blame  in  herself,  but  much 
to  pity,  too.  A  rudderless  little  bark,  she  had  been  set 
adrift  in  so  inviting,  so  welcoming  a  sea  twenty  years 
ago!  She  had  known  that  she  was  beautiful,  and 
that  she  must  marry — what  else?  What  more  serious 
thought  ever  flitted  through  the  brain  of  little  Rachael 
Fairfax  than  that  it  was  a  delicious  adventure  to  face 
life  in  a  rough  blue  coat  and  feathered  hat,  and  steer 
her  wild  little  sails  straight  into  the  heart  of  the  great 
waters  ? 

She  would  have  broken  Stephen's  heart;  but  Stephen 
was  dead.  She  had  seized  upon  Clarence  with  never  a 
thought  of  what  she  was  to  give  him,  with  never  a 
prayer  as  to  her  fitness  to  be  his  wife,  nor  his  fitness  to 
be  the  father  of  her  children.  She  had  laughed  at  self- 
sacrifice,  laughed  at  endurance,  laughed  at  married 
love — these  things  were  only  words  to  her.  And  when 
she  had  tugged  with  all  her  might  at  the  problem  before 
her,  and  tried,  with  her  pitiable,  untrained  strength  to 
force  what  she  wished  from  Fate,  then  she  had  flung  the 
whole  thing  aside,  and  rushed  on  to  new  experiments — • 
and  to  new  failures. 


THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL  373 

Always  on  the  surface,  always  thinking  of  the  impres- 
sion she  made  on  the  watching  men  and  women  about 
her,  what  a  life  it  had  been !  She  had  never  known  who 
made  Clarence's  money,  what  his  own  father  had  been 
like,  what  the  forces  were  that  had  formed  him,  and 
had  made  him  what  he  was.  He  did  not  please  her, 
that  began  and  ended  the  story.  He  had  presently 
flung  himself  into  eternity  with  as  little  heed  as  she  had 
cast  herself  into  her  new  life. 

Ah,  but  there  had  been  a  difference  there!  She  had 
loved  there,  and  been  awakened  by  great  love.  Her 
child's  crumpled,  rosy  foot  had  come  to  mean  more  to 
her  than  all  the  world  had  meant  before.  The  smile, 
or  the  frown,  in  her  husband's  eyes  had  been  her  sun- 
shine or  her  storm.  Through  love  she  had  come  to 
know  the  brimming  life  of  the  world,  the  pathos,  the 
comedy  that  is  ready  to  spill  itself  over  every  humble 
window-sill,  the  joy  that  some  woman's  heart  feels 
whenever  the  piping  cry  of  the  new-born  sounds  in  a 
darkened  room,  the  sorrow  held  by  every  shabby  white 
hearse  that  winds  its  way  through  a  hot  and  unnoticing 
street.  She  had  clung  to  husband  and  sons  with  the 
tigerish  tenacity  that  is  the  rightful  dower  of  wife  and 
mother;  she  had  thought  the  world  well  lost  in  holding 
them. 

And  then  the  sordid,  selfish  past  rose  like  an  ugly 
mist  before  her,  and  she  found  at  her  lips  the  bitter  cup 
she  had  filled  herself.  She  was  not  so  safe  now,  behind 
her  barrier  of  love,  but  that  the  terrible  machinery 
she  had  set  in  motion  might  bring  its  grinding  wheels 
to  bear  upon  the  lives  she  guarded.  She  had  flung 
her  solemn  promise  aside,  once;  what  defence  could  she 
make  for  a  second  solemn  promise  now?  The  world, 
divorce  mad,  spun  blindly  on,  and  the  echo  of  her  own 
complacent  "one  in  twelve"  came  faintly,  sickly  back 
to  her  after  the  happy  years. 

"Divorce  has  actually  no  place  in  our  laws,  it  isn't 
either  wrong  or  right,"  Rachael  said  one  autumn  day 
when  they  were  walking  slowly  to  the  beach.  Over 


374  THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL 

their  heads  the  trees  were  turning  scarlet;  the  days  were 
still  soft  and  warm,  but  twilight  fell  earlier  now,  and 
in  the  air  at  morning  and  evening  was  the  intoxicating 
sharpness,  the  thin  blue  and  clear  steel  color  that  mark 
the  dying  summer.  Alice's  three  younger  children 
were  in  school,  and  the  family  came  to  Clark's  Hills 
only  for  the  week-ends,  but  Rachael  and  her  boys  stayed 
on  and  on,  enjoying  the  rare  warmth  and  beauty  of  the 
Indian  Summer,  and  comfortable  in  the  old  house  that 
had  weathered  fifty  autumns  and  would  weather  fifty 
more. 

"In  some  states  it  is  absolutely  illegal,"  Rachael  con- 
tinued, "in  others,  it's  permissible.  In  some  it  is  a 
real  source  of  revenue.  Now  fancy  treating  any  other 
offence  that  way!  Imagine  states  in  which  stealing 
was  only  a  regrettable  incident,  or  where  murder  was 
tolerated !  In  South  Carolina  you  cannot  get  a  divorce 
on  any  grounds  !  In  Washington  the  courts  can  give  it 
to  you  for  any  cause  they  consider  sufficient.  There  was 
a  case:  a  man  and  his  wife  obtained  a  divorce  and  both 
remarried.  Now  they  find  they  are  both  bigamists, 
because  it  was  shown  that  the  wife  went  West,  with  her 
husband's  knowledge  and  consent,  to  establish  her 
residence  there  for  the  explicit  purpose  of  getting  a  di- 
vorce. It  was  well-established  law  that  if  a  husband 
or  wife  seek  the  jurisdiction  of  another  state  for  the 
sole  object  of  obtaining  a  divorce,  without  any  real 
intent  of  living  there,  making  their  home  there,  goes, 
in  other  words,  just  for  divorce  purposes,  then  the  decree 
having  been  fraudulently  obtained  will  not  be  recog- 
nized anywhere ! " 

"  But  thousands  do  it,  Rachael." 

"But  thousands  don't  seem  to  realize — I  never  did 
before — that  that  is  illegal.  You  can't  deliberately 
move  to  Reno  or  Seattle  or  San  Francisco  for  such  a 
purpose.  All  marriages  following  a  divorce  procured 
under  these  conditions  are  illegal.  Besides  this,  the 
divorce  laws  as  they  exist  in  Washington,  California, 
or  Nevada  are  not  recognized  by  other  states,  and  so 


THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL  375 

because  a  couple  are  separated  upon  the  grounds  of 
cruelty  or  incompatibility  in  some  Western  state,  they 
are  still  legally  man  and  wife  in  New  York  or  Massa- 
chusetts. All  sorts  of  hideous  complications  are  going 
on:  blackmail  and  perjury! 

"  I  wonder  why  divorce  laws  are  so  little  understood  ?" 
Alice  mused. 

"Because  divorce  is  an  abnormal  thing.  You  can't 
make  it  right,  and  of  course  we  are  a  long  way  from 
making  it  wrong.  But  that  is  what  it  is  coming  to,  I 
believe.  Divorce  will  be  against  the  law  some  day! 
No  divorce  on  any  grounds  !  It  cannot  be  reconciled 
to  law;  it  defies  law.  Right  on  the  face  of  it,  it  is 
breaking  a  contract.  Are  any  other  contracts  to  be 
broken  with  public  approval  ?  We  will  see  the  return  of 
the  old,  simple  law,  then  we  will  wonder  at  ourselves !  I 
am  not  a  woman  who  takes  naturally  to  public  work — 
I  wish  I  were.  But  perhaps  some  day  I  can  strike  the 
system  a  blow.  It  is  women  like  me  who  understand, 
and  who  will  help  to  end  it." 

"It  is  only  the  worth-while  women  who  do  under- 
stand," said  Alice.  "You  are  the  marble  worth  cutting. 
Life  is  a  series  of  phases;  we  are  none  of  us  the  same 
from  year  to  year.  You  are  not  the  same  girl  that  you 
were  when  you  married  Clarence  Breckenridge " 

"What  a  different  woman!"  Rachael  said  under  her 
breath. 

"Well,"  said  Alice  then  a  little  frightened,  "why 
won't  you  think  that  perhaps  Warren  might  have 
changed,  too;  that  whatever  Warren  has  done,  it  was 
done  more  like — like  the  little  boy  who  has  never  had 
his  fling,  who  gets  dizzy  with  his  own  freedom,  and  does 
something  foolish  without  analyzing  just  what  he  is 
•doing?" 

"But  Warren,  after  all,  isn't  a  child!"  Rachael  said 
sadly. 

"But  Warren  is  in  some  ways;  that's  just  it,"  Alice 
said  eagerly.  "He  has  always  been  singularly — well, 
unbalanced,  in  some  ways.  Don't  you  know  there  was 


376  THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL 

always  a  sort  of  simplicity,  a  sort  of  bright  innocence 
about  Warren?  He  believed  whatever  anybody  said 
until  you  laughed  at  him;  he  took  every  one  of  his 
friends  on  his  own  valuation.  It's  only  where  his  work 
is  concerned  that  you  ever  see  Warren  positive,  and 
dictatorial,  and  keen " 

Rachael's  eyes  had  rilled  with  tears. 

"But  he  isn't  the  man  I  loved,  and  married,"  she 
said  slowly.  "I  thought  he  was  a  sort  of  god — he 
could  do  no  wrong  for  me!" 

"Yes,  but  that  isn't  the  way  to  feel  toward  anybody," 
persisted  Alice.  "No  man  is  a  god,  no  man  is  perfect. 
You're  not  perfect  yourelf;  I'm  not.  Can't  you  just 
say  to  yourself  that  human  beings  are  faulty — it  may 
be  your  form  of  it  to  get  dignified  and  sulk,  and  War- 
ren's to  wander  off  dreamily  into  curious  paths — but 
that's  life,  Rachael,  that's  'better  or  worse,'  isn't  it?" 

"It  isn't  a  question  of  my  holding  out  for  a  mere 
theory,  Alice,"  Rachael  said  after  a  while;  "I'm  not 
saying  that  I'm  all  in  the  right,  and  that  I  will  never  see 
Warren  again  until  he  admits  it,  and  everyone  admits 
it — that  isn't  what  I  want.  But  it's  just  that  I'm  dead, 
so  far  as  that  old  feeling  is  concerned.  It  is  as  if  a  child 
saw  his  mother  suddenly  turn  into  a  fiend,  and  do  some 
hideously  cruel  act;  no  amount  of  cool  reason  could  ever 
convince  that  child  again  that  his  mother  was  sweet 
and  good." 

"But  as  you  get  older,"  Alice  smiled,  "you  differen- 
tiate between  good  and  good,  and  you  see  grades  in 
evil,  too.  Everything  isn't  all  good  or  all  bad,  like  the 
heroes  and  the  villains  of  the  old  plays.  If  Warren 
had  done  a  'hideously  cruel'  thing  deliberately,  that 
would  be  one  thing;  what  he  has  done  is  quite  another. 
The  God  who  made  us  put  sex  into  the  world,  Warren 
didn't;  and  Warren  only  committed,  in  his — what  is  it? 
— forty-eighth  year  one  of  the  follies  that  most  boys 
dispose  of  in  their  teens.  Be  generous,  Rachael,  and 
forgive  him.  Give  him  another  trial ! " 

"How   can   I   forgive    him?"   Rachael   said,    badly 


THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL  377 


shaken,  and  through  tears.  "No,  no,  no,  I  couldn't! 
I  never  can." 

They  had  reached  the  beach  now,  and  could  see  the 
children,  in  their  blue  field  coats,  following  the  curving 
reaches  of  the  incoming  waves.  The  fresh  roar  of  the 
breakers  filled  a  silence,  gulls  piped  their  wistful  little 
cry  as  they  circled  high  in  the  blue  air.  Old  Captain 
Semple,  in  his  rickety  one-seated  buggy,  drove  up  the 
beach,  the  water  rising  in  the  wheel-tracks.  The  chil- 
dren gathered  about  him;  it  was  one  of  their  excite- 
ments to  see  the  Captain  wash  his  carriage,  and  the 
old  mare  splash  in  the  shallow  water.  Alice  seated 
herself  on  a  great  log,  worn  silver  from  the  sea,  and  half 
buried  in  the  white  sand,  but  Rachael  remained  stand- 
ing, the  sweet  October  wind  whipping  against  her 
strong  and  splendid  figure,  her  beautiful  eyes  looking 
far  out  to  sea. 

"You  two  have  no  quarrel,"  the  older  woman 
added  mildly.  "You  and  Warren  were  rarely  com- 
panionable. I  used  to  say  to  George  that  you  were 
almost  too  congenial,  too  sensitive  to  each  other's  moods. 
Warren  knew  that  you  idolized  him,  Rachael,  and 
consequently,  when  criticism  came,  when  he  felt  that 
you  of  all  persons  were  misjudging  him,  why,  he  simply 
flung  up  his  head  like  a  horse,  and  bolted!" 

"Misjudging?"  Rachael  said  quickly,  half  turning 
her  head,  and  bringing  her  eyes  from  the  far  horizon 
to  rest  upon  Alice's  face.  The  children  had  seen  them 
now,  and  were  running  toward  them,  and  Alice  did  not 
attempt  to  answer.  She  sighed,  and  shrugged  her 
shoulders. 

A  dead  horseshoe  crab  on  the  sands  deflected  the 
course  of  the  racing  children,  except  Derry,  who  pursued 
his  panting  way,  and  as  Rachael  sat  down  on  the  log, 
cast  himself,  radiant  and  breathless,  into  her  arms. 
She  caught  the  child  to  her  heart  passionately.  He 
had  always  been  closer  to  her  than  even  the  splendid 
first-born  because  of  the  giddy  little  head  that  was 
always  getting  him  into  troubles,  and  the  reckless 


378  THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL 

little  feet  that  never  chose  a  sensible  course.  Derry 
was  always  being  rescued  from  deep  water,  always 
leaping  blindly  from  high  places  and  saved  by  the  nar- 
rowest possible  chance,  always  getting  his  soft  mop  of 
hair  inextricably  tangled  in  the  steering-gear  of  Rachael's 
car,  or  his  foot  hopelessly  twisted  in  the  innocent- 
looking  bars  of  his  own  bed,  always  eating  mysterious 
berries,  or  tasting  dangerous  medicines,  always  ready 
to  laugh  deeply  and  deliciously  at  his  own  crimes. 
Jim  assumed  a  protective  attitude  toward  him,  chuck- 
ling at  his  predicaments,  advising  him,  and  even  gal- 
lantly assuming  the  blame  for  his  worst  misdeeds. 
Rachael  imagined  them  in  boarding-school  some  day; 
in  college;  Jim  the  student,  dragged  from  his  books 
and  window-seat  to  go  to  the  rescue  of  the  unfortunate 
but  fascinating  junior.  Jim  said  he  was  going  to  write 
books;  Derry  was  going — her  heart  contracted  when- 
ever he  said  it — was  going  to  be  a  doctor,  and  Dad 
would  show  him  what  to  do! 

Ah,  how  proud  Warren  might  have  been  of  them, 
she  thought,  walking  home  to-day,  a  sandy  hand  in 
each  of  hers,  Derry  hopping  on  one  foot,  twisting, 
and  leaping;  Jim  leaning  affectionately  against  her, 
and  holding  forth  as  to  the  proper  method  of  washing 
wagons!  What  man  would  not  have  been  proud  of 
this  pair,  enchanting  in  faded  galatea  now,  soon  to 
be  introduced  to  linen  knickerbockers,  busy  with  their 
first  toiling  capitals  now,  some  day  to  be  growling  Latin 
verbs.  They  would  be  interested  in  the  Zoo  this 
winter,  and  then  in  skating,  and  then  in  football — 
Warren  loved  football.  He  had  thrown  it  all  away! 

Widowed  in  spirit,  still  Rachael  was  continually 
reminded  that  she  was  not  actually  widowed,  and  in  the 
hurt  that  came  to  her,  even  in  these  first  months,  she 
found  a  chilling  premonition  of  the  years  to  come. 
Warm-hearted  Vera  Villalonga  wrote  impulsively  from 
the  large  establishment  at  Lakewood  that  she  had 
acquired  for  the  early  winter.  She  had  heard  that 
Rachael  and  Greg  weren't  exactly  hitting  it  off — 


THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL  879 

hoped  to  the  Lord  it  wasn't  true-^-anyway,  Rachael 
had  been  perfectly  horrible  about  seeing  her  old  friends; 
couldn't  she  come  at  once  to  Vera,  lots  of  the  old  crowd 
were  there,  and  spend  a  month?  Mrs.  Barker  Emery, 
meeting  Rachael  on  one  of  the  rare  occasions  when 
Rachael  went  into  the  city,  asked  pleasantly  for  the 
boys,  and  pleasantly  did  not  ask  for  Warren.  Belvedere 
Bay  was  gayer  than  ever  this  year,  Mrs.  Emory  said; 
did  Rachael  know  that  the  Duchess  of  Exton  was  visit- 
ing Mary  Moulton — such  a  dear!  Georgiana  Vander- 
wall,  visiting  the  Thomases  at  Easthampton,  motored 
over  one  day  to  spend  a  sympathetic  half  morning  with 
Rachael,  pressing  that  lady's  unresponsive  hand  with 
her  own  large,  capable  one,  and  murmuring  that  of 
course — one  heard — that  the  Bishop  of  course  felt 
dreadfully — they  only  hoped — both  such  dear  sweet 
people 

Rachael  felt  as  if  she  would  like  to  take  a  bath  after 
this  well-meant  visitation.  A  day  or  two  later  she 
had  a  letter  from  Florence,  who  said  that  "someone" 
had  told  her  that  the  Gregorys  might  not  be  planning 
to  keep  their  wonderful  cook  this  winter.  If  that  was 
true,  would  Rachael  be  so  awfully  good  as  to  ask  her  to 
go  see  Mrs.  Haviland  ? 

"The  pack,"  Rachael  said  to  Alice,  "is  ready  to  run 
again!" 


378  THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL 

little  feet  that  never  chose  a  sensible  course.  Derry 
was  always  being  rescued  from  deep  water,  always 
leaping  blindly  from  high  places  and  saved  by  the  nar- 
rowest possible  chance,  always  getting  his  soft  mop  of 
hair  inextricably  tangled  in  the  steering-gear  of  Rachael's 
car,  or  his  foot  hopelessly  twisted  in  the  innocent- 
looking  bars  of  his  own  bed,  always  eating  mysterious 
berries,  or  tasting  dangerous  medicines,  always  ready 
to  laugh  deeply  and  deliciously  at  his  own  crimes. 

Jim  assumed  a  protective  attitude  toward  him,  chuck- 
ng  at  his  predicaments,  advising  him,  and  even  gal- 
lantly assuming  the  blame  for  his  worst  misdeeds. 
Rachael  imagined  them  in  boarding-school  some  day; 
in  college;  Jim  the  student,  dragged  from  his  books 
and  window-seat  to  go  to  the  rescue  of  the  unfortunate 
but  fascinating  junior.  Jim  said  he  was  going  to  write 
books;  Derry  was  going — her  heart  contracted  when- 
ever he  said  it — was  going  to  be  a  doctor,  and  Dad 
would  show  him  what  to  do! 

Ah,  how  proud  Warren  might  have  been  of  them, 
she  thought,  walking  home  to-day,  a  sandy  hand  in 
each  of  hers,  Derry  hopping  on  one  foot,  twisting, 
and  leaping;  Jim  leaning  affectionately  against  her, 
and  holding  forth  as  to  the  proper  method  of  washing 
wagons!  What  man  would  not  have  been  proud  of 
this  pair,  enchanting  in  faded  galatea  now,  soon  to 
be  introduced  to  linen  knickerbockers,  busy  with  their 
first  toiling  capitals  now,  some  day  to  be  growling  Latin 
verbs.  They  would  be  interested  in  the  Zoo  this 
winter,  and  then  in  skating,  and  then  in  football — 
Warren  loved  football.  He  had  thrown  it  all  away! 

Widowed  in  spirit,  still  Rachael  was  continually 
reminded  that  she  was  not  actually  widowed,  and  in  the 
hurt  that  came  to  her,  even  in  these  first  months,  she 
found  a  chilling  premonition  of  the  years  to  come. 
Warm-hearted  Vera  Villalonga  wrote  impulsively  from 
the  large  establishment  at  Lakewood  that  she  had 
acquired  for  the  early  winter.  She  had  heard  that 
Rachael  and  Greg  weren't  exactly  hitting  it  off — 


THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL  879 

hoped  to  the  Lord  it  wasn't  true— -anyway,  Rachael 
had  been  perfectly  horrible  about  seeing  her  old  friends; 
couldn't  she  come  at  once  to  Vera,  lots  of  the  old  crowd 
were  there,  and  spend  a  month?  Mrs.  Barker  Emory, 
meeting  Rachael  on  one  of  the  rare  occasions  when 
Rachael  went  into  the  city,  asked  pleasantly  for  the 
boys,  and  pleasantly  did  not  ask  for  Warren.  Belvedere 
Bay  was  gayer  than  ever  this  year,  Mrs.  Emory  said; 
did  Rachael  know  that  the  Duchess  of  Exton  was  visit- 
ing Mary  Moulton — such  a  dear!  Georgiana  Vander- 
wall,  visiting  the  Thomases  at  Easthampton,  motored 
over  one  day  to  spend  a  sympathetic  half  morning  with 
Rachael,  pressing  that  lady's  unresponsive  hand  with 
her  own  large,  capable  one,  and  murmuring  that  of 
course — one  heard — that  the  Bishop  of  course  felt 
dreadfully — they  only  hoped — both  such  dear  sweet 
people 

Rachael  felt  as  if  she  would  like  to  take  a  bath  after 
this  well-meant  visitation.  A  day  or  two  later  she 
had  a  letter  from  Florence,  who  said  that  "someone" 
had  told  her  that  the  Gregorys  might  not  be  planning 
to  keep  their  wonderful  cook  this  winter.  If  that  was 
true,  would  Rachael  be  so  awfully  good  as  to  ask  her  to 
go  see  Mrs.  Haviland? 

"The  pack/*  Rachael  said  to  Alice,  "is  ready  to  run 
again!" 


CHAPTER  VII 

NOVEMBER  turned  chilly,  and  in  its  second  week 
there  was  even  a  flutter  of  snow  at  Clark's  Hills. 
Rachael  did  not  dislike  it,  and  it  was  a  huge  adventure 
to  the  boys.  Nevertheless,  she  began  to  feel  that  a 
longer  stay  down  on  the  bleak  coast  might  be  unwise. 
The  old  house,  for  all  its  purring  furnace  and  double 
windows,  was  draughty  enough  to  admit  icy  little 
fingers  of  the  outside  air,  here  and  there,  and  the  vil- 
lage, getting  under  storm  shutters  and  closing  up  this 
wing  or  that  room  for  the  winter,  was  so  businesslike 
in  its  preparations  as  to  fill  Rachael's  heart  with  mild 
misgivings. 

Alice  still  brought  her  brood  down  for  the  week-ends, 
and  it  \*  on  one  of  these  that  Rachael  suddenly  de- 
cided to  move.  The  two  women  discussed  it,  Rachael 
finally  agreeing  to  go  to  the  Valentines'  for  a  week  before 

f^ing  on  to  Boston — or  it  might  be  Washington  or 
hiladelphia— any  other  city  than  the  one  in  which 
she  might  encounter  the  boys'  father.  Alice  had  never 
won  her  to  promise  a  visit  before,  and  although  Rachael's 
confidence  in  her — for  Rachael  neither  extracted  a 
promise  from  Alice  as  to  any  possible  encounter  with 
Warren,  nor  reminded  her  friend  that  she  placed  her- 
self entirely  at  Alice's  mercy — rather  disconcerted 
Alice,  she  had  a  simple  woman's  strong  faith  in  coin- 
cidence, and  she  felt,  she  told  George,  that  the  Lord 
would  not  let  this  opportunity  for  a  reconciliation  go 
by.  Mrs.  Valentine  had  seen  Warren  Gregory  now, 
more  than  once,  and  far  more  potent  than  any  argu- 
ment that  he  might  have  made  was  his  silence,  his  most 
unexpected  and  unnatural  silence.  There  was  no 
explanation;  indeed  Warren  had  little  to  say  on  any 

380 


THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL  381 

subject  in  these  days.  He  liked  to  come  now  and 
then,  in  the  evening,  to  the  Valentine  house,  but  he 
would  not  dine  there,  and  confined  his  remarks  almost 
entirely  to  answers  to  George.  Physically,  Alice 
thought  him  shockingly  changed. 

"He  is  simply  broken,"  she  said  to  George,  in  some- 
thing like  fright.  "I  didn't  know  human  beings  could 
change  that  way.  Warren — who  used  to  be  so  posi- 
tive! Why,  he's  almost  timid!" 

She  did  not  tell  Rachael  this,  and  George  insisted 
that,  while  Rachael  and  the  boys  were  at  the  house, 
Warren  must  be  warned  to  keep  away;  so  that  Alice 
had  frail  enough  material  with  which  to  build  her 
dreams.  Nevertheless,  she  dreamed. 

It  was  finally  arranged  that  Rachael  and  little  Jim 
should  go  up  to  town  on  a  certain  Monday  with  Alice; 
tLat  Rachael  should  make  various  engagements  then, 
as  to  storage,  packing,  and  such  matters  as  the  care  of 
the  piano  and  the  car,  for  the  winter.  Then  Jim,  for 
the  first  time  in  his  life,  would  stay  away  from  his 
mother  overnight  with  Aunt  Alice,  Rachael  returning 
to  Clark's  Hills  to  bring  Mary  and  Derry  up  the  next 
day  in  the  car.  Jim  was  to  go  to  the  dentist,  and  to 
get  shoes;  there  were  several  excellent  reasons  why  it 
seemed  wise  to  have  him  await  his  mother  and  brother 
in  town  rather  than  make  the  long  trip  twice  in  one 
day.  Mary  smuggled  Derry  out  of  sight  when  thv, 
Monday  morning  came,  and  Rachael  and  her  oldest 
son  went  away  with  the  Valentines  in  the  car. 

It  was  a  fresh,  sweet  morning  in  the  early  winter, 
and  both  women,  furred  to  the  eyes,  enjoyed  the  trip. 
The  children,  snuggled  in  between  them,  chattered  of 
their  own  affairs,  and  Rachael  interrupted  her  inex^ 
haustible  talk  with  Alice  only  to  ask  a  question  of  the 
driver  now  and  then. 

"I  shall  have  to  bring  my  own  car  over  this  road 
to-morrow,  Kane,"  she  explained.  "I  have  never 
been  at  the  wheel  myself  before  in  all  the  times  I  have 
done  itu" 


382  THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL 

"Mar-r-tin  does  be  knowin'  every  step  of  the  way," 
suggested  Kane. 

"But  Martin  hasn't  been  with  me  this  summer," 
the  lady  smiled. 

"I  thought  I  saw  him  runnin'  the  docther's  car  yes- 
terda'  week,"  mused  Kane  who  was  a  privileged  char- 
acter. "Well,  'tis  not  hard,  Mrs.  Gregory.  The 
whole  place  is  plasthered  wid  posts.  But  the  thing 
of  it  is,  ma'am,"  he  added,  after  a  moment,  turning 
back  toward  her  without  taking  his  eyes  from  the 
road,  "there  does  be  a  big  storm  blowin'  up.  Look 
there,  far  over  there,  how  black  it  is." 

"But  that  won't  break  to-day?"  Rachael  said  un- 
easily, thinking  of  Derry. 

"Well,  it  may  not — that's  thrue.  But  these  roads 
will  be  in  a  grand  mess  if  we  have  anny  more  rain — 
that's  a  fact  for  ye,"  Kane  persisted. 

"Then  don't  come  until  Wednesday,"  suggested 
Alice. 

"Oh,  Alice,  but  I'll  be  so  frantic  to  see  my  boy!" 

"Twenty-four  hours  more,  you  goose! "  Alice  laughed. 
Rachael  laughed,  too,  and  took  several  surreptitious 
kisses  from  the  back  of  Jimmy's  neck  as  a  fortifica- 
tion against  the  coming  separation. 

Indeed,  she  found  it  unbelievably  hard  to  leave  him, 
trotting  happily  upstairs  with  his  beloved  Katharine, 
and  to  go  about  her  day's  business  anticipating  the 
long  trip  back  to  Home  Dunes  without  him.  However, 
there  were  not  many  hours  to  spare,  and  Rachael  had 
much  to  do.  She  set  herself  systematically  to  work. 

By  one  o'clock  everything  was  done,  with  an  hour  to 
spare  for  train  time.  But  she  had  foolishly  omitted 
luncheon,  and  felt  tired  and  dizzy.  She  turned  toward 
a  downtown  lunchroom,  and  was  held  at  the  crossing  of 
Fifth  Avenue  and  one  of  the  thirties  idly  watching 
the  crowd  of  cars  that  delayed  her  when  she  saw  War- 
ren in  his  car. 

He  was  on  the  cross  street,  and  so  also  stopped,  but 
he  did  not  see  her.  Martin  was  at  the  wheel,  Warren 


THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL  K  388 

buttoned  to  the  neck  in  a  gray  coat,  his  hat  well  down 
over  his  eyes,  alone  in  the  back  seat.  He  was  staring 
steadily,  yet  with  unseeing  eyes,  before  him,  and  Rachael 
felt  a  sense  of  almost  sickening  shock  at  the  sight  of  his 
altered  face.  Warren,  looking  tired  and  depressed, 
looking  discouraged,  and  with  some  new  look  of  diffi- 
dence and  hurt,  besides  all  these,  in  his  face!  Warren 
old!  Warren  old  I ^ 

Rachael  felt  as  if  she  should  faint.  She  was  rooted 
"where  she  stood.  Fifth  Avenue  pushed  gayly  and 
busily  by  her  under  the  leaden  sky.  Furred  old 
Sadies,  furred  little  girls,  messenger  boys  and  club  men, 
jostling,  gossiping,  planning.  Only  she  stood  still. 
And  after  a  while  she  looked  again  where  Warren  had 
been.  He  was  gone.  But  had  he  seen  her?  her 
heart  asked  itself  with  wild  clamor.  Had  he  seen  her? 

She  began  to  walk  rapidly  and  blindly,  conscious 
of  taking  a  general  direction  toward  the  Terminal 
.Station,  but  so  vague  as  to  her  course  that  she  pres- 
ently looked  bewilderedly  about  to  find  that  she  was 
In  Eighth  Avenue  and  that,  standing  absolutely  still 
again,  and  held  by  thought,  she  was  being  curiously 
regarded  by  a  policeman.  She  gave  the  man  a  dazed 
and  sickly  smile. 

"I  am  afraid  I  am  a  little  out  of  my  way,"  she  stanv1 
mered.  "I  am  going  to  the  station." 

He  pointed  out  the  direction,  and  she  thanked  him, 
and  blindly  went  on  her  way.  But  her  heart  was 
tearing  like  a  living  thing  in  her  breast,  and  she  walked 
like  a  wounded  creature  that  leaves  a  trail  of  life 
blood. 

;  Oh,  she  was  his  wife — his  wife — his  wife!  She  be- 
i longed  there,  in  that  empty  seat  beside  him,  with  her 
shoulder  against  that  gray  overcoat!  What  was  she 
doing  in  this  desolate  street  of  little  shops,  faint  and 
heartsick  and  alone!  Oh,  for  the  security  of  that 
familiar  car  again!  How  often  she  had  sat  beside  him, 
arrested  by  the  traffic,  content  to  placidly  watch  the 
shifting  crowd,  to  wait  for  the  shrill  little  whistle  that 


384  THE  HEAHT  OF  RACHAEL 

gave  them  the  right  of  way!  If  she  were  there  now, 
where  might  they  be  going?  Perhaps  to  a  concert, 
perhaps  to  look  at  a  picture  in  some  gallery,  but  first  of  all 
certainly  to  lunch.  His  first  question  would  be:  "Had 
your  lunch?"  and  his  answer  only  a  satisfied  nod.  But 
he  would  direct  Martin  to  the  first  place  that  suggested 
itself  to  him  as  being  suitable  for  Rachael's  meal.  And 
he  would  order  it,  no  trouble  was  too  much  for  her; 
nothing  too  good  for  his  wife. 

She  was  not  beside  him.  She  was  still  drifting  along 
this  hideous  street,  battling  with  faintness  and  head- 
ache, and  never,  perhaps,  to  see  her  husband  again. 
One  of  her  sons  was  in  the  city,  another  miles  away. 
To  her  horror  she  felt  herself  beginning  to  cry.  She 
quickened  her  pace,  and  reckless  of  the  waiter's  concern, 
entered  the  station  restaurant  and  ordered  herself  a 
lunch.  But  when  it  came  she  could  not  eat  it,  and  she 
was  presently  in  the  train,  without  a  book  or  magazine, 
still  fasting  except  for  a  hurried  half  cup  of  tea,  and 
every  instant  less  and  less  able  to  resist  the  coming 
flood  of  her  tears. 

All  the  long  trip  home  she  wept,  quietly  and  steadily, 
one  arm  on  the  window  sill,  a  hand  pressed  against  her 
face.  There  were  few  other  passengers  in  the  train, 
which  was  too  hot.  The  winter  twilight  shut  down 
early,  and  at  last  the  storm  broke;  not  violently,  but 
with  a  stern  and  steady  persistence.  The  windows 
ran  rain,  and  were  blurred  with  steam,  the  darkening 
landscape  swept  by  under  a  deluge.  When  the  train 
stopped  at  a  station,  a  rush  of  wet  air,  mingled  with  the 
odors  of  mackintoshes  and  the  wet  leather  of  motor 
cars,  came  in.  Rachael  would  look  out  to  see  meetings, 
lanterns  and  raincoats,  umbrellas  dripping  over  eager, 
rosy  faces. 

She  would  be  glad  to  get  home,  she  said  to  herself,  to 
her  snuggly  little  comforting  Derry.  They  would  not 
attempt  to  make  the  move  to-morrow — that  was  ab- 
surd. It  had  been  far  too  much  of  a  trip  to-day,  and 
Alice  had  advised  her  against  it.  But  it  had  not 


THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL  385 

sounded  so  formidable.  To  start  at  seven,  be  in  town 
at  ten,  after  the  brisk  run,  and  take  the  afternoon  train 
home — this  was  no  such  strain,  as  they  had  planned  it. 
But  it  had  proved  to  be  a  frightful  strain.  Leaving 
Jim,  and  then  catching  that  heart-rending  glimpse  of 
the  changed  Warren — Warren  looking  like  a  hurt 
child  who  must  bear  a  punishment  without  under- 
standing it. 

"Oh,  what  are  we  thinking  about,  to  act  in  this  crazy 
manner!"  Rachael  asked  herself  desperately.  "He 
loves  me,  and  I — I've  always  loved  him.  Other  people 
may  misjudge  him,  but  I  know!  He's  horrified  and 
shamed  and  sorry.  He's  suffering  as  much  as  I  am. 
What  fools — what  utter  fools  we  are!" 

And  suddenly — it  was  nearly  six  o'clock  now,  and 
they  were  within  a  few  minutes  of  Clark's  Hills — she 
stopped  crying,  and  began  to  plan  a  letter  that  should 
end  the  whole  terrible  episode. 

"Your  stop  Quaker  Bridge?"  asked  the  conductor, 
coming  in,  and  beginning  to  shift  the  seats  briskly  on 
their  iron  pivots,  as  one  who  expected  a  large  crowd  to 
accompany  him  on  the  run  back. 

"Clark's  Hills,"  Rachael  said,  noticing  that  she  was 
alone  in  the  train. 

"Don't  know  as  we  can  get  over  the  Bar,"  the  man 
said  cheerily. 

"Looks  as  if  we  were  going  to  try  it!"  Rachael  an- 
swered with  equal  aplomb  as  the  train  ran  through 
Quaker  Bridge  without  stopping,  and  went  on  with  only 
slightly  decreased  speed.  And  a  moment  later  she 
began  to  gather  her  possessions  together,  and  the  con- 
ductor remarked  amiably:  "Here  we  are!  But  she 
surely  is  raining,"  he  added.  "Well,  we've  only  got 
to  run  back  as  far  as  the  car  barn — that's  Seawall — 
to-night.  My  folks  live  there." 

Rachael  did  not  mind  the  rain.  She  would  be  at 
home  in  five  minutes.  She  climbed  into  a  closed  surrey, 
smelling  strongly  of  leather  and  horses,  and  asked  the 
driver  pleasantly  how  early  the  rain  had  commenced. 


S86  THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL 

He  evidently  did  not  hear  her,  at  all  events  made  no 
answer,  and  she  did  not  speak  again. 

"Where's  my  Derry?"  Rachael's  voice  rang  strong 
and  happy  through  the  house.  "Mary — Mary!"  she 
added,  stopping,  rather  puzzled,  in  the  hall.  "Where  is 
he?" 

How  did  it  come  to  her,  by  what  degrees?  How  does 
such  news  tell  itself,  from  the  first  little  chill,  that  is  not 
quite  fear,  to  the  full  thundering  avalanche  of  utter 
horror?  Rachael  never  remembered  afterward,  never 
tried  to  remember.  The  moment  remained  the  black- 
est of  all  her  life.  It  was  not  the  subtly  changed  at- 
mosphere of  the  house,  not  Mary's  tear-swollen  face, 
as  she  appeared,  silent,  at  the  top  of  the  stairs;  not 
Millie,  who  came  ashen-faced  and  panting  from  the 
kitchen;  not  the  sudden,  weary  little  moan  that  floated 
softly  through  the  hallway — no  one  of  all  these  things. 

Yet  Rachael  knew — Derry  was  dying.  She  needed 
not  to  know  how  or  why.  Her  furs  fell  where  she  stood, 
her  hat  was  gone,  she  had  flown  upstairs  as  swiftly  as 
light.  She  knew  the  door,  she  knew  what  she  would  see. 
She  went  down  on  her  knees  beside  him. 

Her  little  gallant,  reckless,  shouting  Derry!  Her 
warm,  beautiful  boy,  changed  in  these  few  hours  to  this 
crushed  and  moaning  little  being,  this  cruelly  crumpled 
and  tortured  little  wreck  of  all  that  had  been  gay  and 
sound  and  confident  babyhood! 

In  that  first  moment  at  his  side  it  had  seemed  to 
Rachael  that  she  must  die,  too,  of  sheer  agony  of  spirit.; 
She  put  her  beautiful  head  down  against  the  brown 
little  limp  hand  upon  which  a  rusty  stain  was  drying, 
and  she  could  have  wailed  aloud  in  the  bitter  rebellion 
of  her  soul.  Not  Derry,  not  Derry,  so  small  and  inno- 
cent and  confiding — her  own  child,  her  own  flesh  and 
blood,  the  fibre  of  her  being!  Trusting  them,  obeying 
them,  and  betrayed — brought  to  this! 

At  her  first  look  she  had  thought  the  child  dead;  now, 
as  she  drew  back  from  him,  and  caught  her  self-control 


THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL  38T 

with  a  quivering  breath,  and  wrung  her  hands  together 
in  desperate  effort  to  hold  back  a  scream,  she  found 
it  in  her  heart  to  wish  he  were.  His  little  face  was  black 
from  a  great  bruise  that  spread  from  temple  to  chin, 
his  mouth  cut  and  swollen,  his  eyes  half  shut.  His 
body  was  doubled  where  it  lay,  a  great  bubble  of  blood 
moved  with  his  breath.  He  breathed  lightly  and 
faintly,  with  an  occasional  deep  gasp  that  invariably 
brought  the  long,  heart-sickening  moan.  They  had 
taken  off  part  of  his  clothes,  his  shoes  and  stockings, 
but  he  still  wore  his  Holland  suit,  and  the  dark-blue 
woolen  coat  had  only  been  partly  removed. 

Rachael,  ashen-faced,  rose  from  her  knees,  and  faced 
Mary  and  Millie.  With  bitter  tears  the  story  was  told. 
He  had  been  playing,  as  usual,  in  the  barn,  and  Mary 
had  been  swinging  him.  Not  high,  nothing  like  as  high 
as  Jimmie  went.  And  Millie  came  out  to  say  that 
their  dinner  was  ready,  and  all  of  a  sudden  he  called  out 
that  he  could  swing  without  holding  on,  and  put  both 
his  hands  up  in  the  air.  And  then  Mary  saw  him  fall> 
the  board  of  the  swing  falling,  too,  and  striking  him  as 
he  fell,  and  his  face  dashing  against  the  old  mill-whee! 
that  stood  by  the  door.  And  he  had  not  spoken 
since. 

His  arm  had  hung  down  loose-like,  as  Mary  carried  him 
in,  and  Millie  had  run  for  the  doctor.  But  Doctor  Peet 
wouldn't  be  back  until  seven,  and  the  girls  had  dared  do> 
no  more  than  wash  off  his  face  a  little  and  try  to  make 
him  comfortable.  "I  wish  the  Lord  had  called  me  be- 
fore the  day  came,"  said  Mary,  "me,  that  would  have 
died  for  him — for  any  of  you ! " 

"  I  know  that,  Mary,"  Rachael  said.  "  It  would  have 
happened  as  easily  with  me.  We  all  know  what  you 
have  been  to  the  boys,  Mary.  But  you  mustn't  cry  so 
hard.  I  need  you.  I  am  going  to  drive  him  into 


town.'3 


"Oh,  my  God,  in  this  storm?"  exclaimed  Millie. 
"There's  nothing  else  to  do,"  Rachael  said.     "He 
may  die  on  the  way,  but  his  mother  will  do  what  she 


388  THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL 

can.  I  couldn't  have  Doctor  Peet,  kind  as  he  is. 
Doctor  Gregory — his  father — will  know.  It's  nearly 
seven  now.  We  must  start  as  fast  as  we  can.  You'll 
have  to  pin  something  all  about  the  back  seat,  Mary, 
and  line  it  with  comforters.  We'll  put  his  mattress  on 
the  seat — you'll  make  it  snug,  won't  you? — and  you'll 
sit 'on  the  floor  there,  and  steady  him  all  you  can,  for 
I'll  have  to  drive.  We  ought  to  be  there  by  midnight, 
even  in  the  storm." 

"I'll  fix  it,"  Mary  said,  with  one  great  sob,  and  im- 
mediately, to  Rachael's  great  relief,  she  was  her  prac- 
tical self. 

"And  I  want  some  coffee,  Millie,"  she  said,  "strong; 
I'm  not  hungry,  but  if  you  have  something  ready,  I'll 
eat  what  I  can.  Did  Ruddy  come  up  and  get  the  car 
to-day,  for  oil  and  gas,  and  so  on  ? " 

"He  did,"  said  Millie,  eager  to  be  helpful. 

"That's  a  blessing."  Rachael  turned  to  look  at  the 
little  figure  on  the  bed.  Her  heart  contracted  with  a 
freezing  spasm  of  terror  whenever  her  eyes  even  moved 
in  that  direction. 

But  there  was  plenty  to  do.  She  got  herself  into 
dry,  warm  clothes.  She  leaned  over  her  little  charge, 
straightening  and  adjusting  as  best  she  could,  shifting 
the  little  body  as  gently  as  was  possible  to  the  smaller 
mattress,  covering  it  warmly  but  lightly.  As  she  did 
so  she  wondered  which  one  of  those  long,  moaning 
breaths  would  be  the  last;  when  would  little  Derry 
straighten  himself — and  lie  still  ? 

No  time  to  think  of  that.  She  tied  on  her  hat  and 
veil,  and  went  out  to  look  at  the  car.  The  rear  seat 
was  lined  with  pillows,  the  curtain  drawn.  She  had 
matches,  her  electric  flashlight,  her  road  maps,  a  flask 
of  brandy — what  else? 

Millie  had  run  for  neighbors,  and  the  chains  were 
finally  adjusted.  The  car  had  been  made  ready  for 
the  run,  and  was  in  good  shape. 

The  big  shadowy  barn  that  was  the  garage  was  full  of 
dancing  shapes  in  the  lantern-light.  The  rain  splashed 


THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL  389 

and  spattered  incessantly  outside;  a  black  sky  seemed  to 
have  closed  down  just  over  their  heads.  She  was  in  a 
fever  to  get  away. 

Slowly  the  dazzling  headlights  moved  in  the  pitchy 
blackness,  the  wheels  grated  but  held  their  own.  The 
car  came  to  the  side  door,  and  the  little  mattress  came 
out,  and  the  muffled  shape  that  was  Mary  got  in  beside 
it.  Then  there  was  buttoning  of  storm  curtains  by 
willing  hands,  and  many  a  whispered  good  wish  to 
Rachael  as  she  slipped  in  under  the  wheel.  Millie 
was  beside  her,  at  the  last  moment,  begging  to  be  of 
some  use  if  she  might. 

"There's   just    this,    Mrs.    Gregory,"    said    Ruddy 
Simms  nervously,  when  the  engine  was  humming,  and  , 
Rachael's  gloved  hand  racing  the  accelerator,  "they^ 
say  the  tide's  making  fast  in  all  this  rain!      I  don't 
know  how  you'll  do  at  the  Bar.      She's  ugly  a  night 
like  this;  what  with  the  bay  eating  one  side,  and  the 
sea  breaking  over  the  other ! "  i 

"Thank  you,"  Rachael  said,  not  hearing  him.     "God ' 
bless  you !     Good-bye ! " 

She  released  the  clutch.     The  big  car  leaped  forward 
into  the  darkness.     The  clock  before  her  eyes   said 
thirty-five  minutes  past  seven.     Rain  beat  against  the 
heavy  cloth  of  the  curtains,  water  swished  and  splashed ' 
under  the  wheels,  and  above  the  purring  of  the  engine, 
they  could  hear  the  clinking  fall  of  the  chains.     There 
was  no  other  sound  except  when  Deny  caught  a  moan- 
ing breath.  i 

Clark's  Hills  passecl  in  blackness,  the  road  dropped 
down  toward  the  Bar.  Rachael  could  feel  that  Mary, 
in  the  back  seat,  was  praying,  and  that  Millie  was  pray- 
ing beside  her.  Her  own  heart  rose  on  a  wild  and  des- 
perate prayer.  If  they  could  cross  this  narrow  strip 
between  the  bay  and  the  ocean,  then  whatever  the 
fortune  of  the  road,  she  could  meet  it.  Telephones,  at 
least,  were  on  the  other  side,  resources  of  all  sorts. 
But  to  be  stopped  here! 

The  look  of  the  Bar,  when  they  reached  it,  struck  chill 


390  THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL 

even  to  Rachael's  heart.  In  the  clear  tunnels  of  light 
flung  from  the  car  lamps  it  seemed  all  a  moving  level 
of  restless  water  smitten  under  sheets  of  rain.  Any- 
thing more  desperate  than  an  effort  to  find  the  little 
belt  of  safety  in  this  trackless  spread  of  merciless  seas  it 
would  be  hard  to  imagine.  At  an  ordinary  high  tide  the 
Bar  was  but  a  few  inches  above  the  sea;  now,  with  a 
wind  blowing,  a  heavy  rain  falling,  and  the  tide  almost 
at  the  full,  no  road  whatever  was  visible.  It  was  there, 
the  friendly  road  that  Rachael  and  the  hot  and  sandy 
boys  had  tramped  a  hundred  times,  but  even  she  could 
not  believe  it,  now,  so  utterly  impassable  did  the  shift- 
ing surface  appear. 

But  she  gallantly  put  the  car  straight  into  the  heart 
of  it,  moving  as  slowly  as  the  engine  permitted,  and 
sending  quick,  apprehensive  glances  into  the  darkness  as 
she  went. 

"At  the  worst,  we  can  back  out  of  this,  Millie,"  said 
she. 

"Of  course  we  can,"  Millie  said,  suppressing  fright- 
ened tears  with  some  courage. 

The  water  was  washing  roughly  against  the  running 
boards;  to  an  onlooker  the  car  would  have  had  the  ap- 
pearance of  being  afloat,  hub-deep,  at  sea. 

Slowly,  slowly,  slowly  they  were  still  moving. 
The  car  stopped  short.  The  engine  was  dead.  Rachael 
touched  her  starter,  touched  it  again  and  again.  No 
| use.  The  car  had  stopped.  The  rain  struck  in  noisy 
sheets  against  the  curtains.  The  sea  gurgled  and  rushed 
i  about  them.  Derry  moaned  softly. 

And  now  the  full  madness  of  the  attempted  expedi- 
tion struck  her  for  the  first  time.  She  had  never 
i  thought  that,  at  worst,  she  could  not  go  back.  What 
now?  Should  they  stand  here  on  the  shifting  sand  of 
the  Bar  until  the  tide  fell — it  was  not  yet  full.  Rachael 
felt  her  heart  beating  quick  with  terror.  It  began  to 
seem  like  a  feverish  dream. 

Neither  maid  spoke,  perhaps  neither  one  realized  the 
full  extent  of  the  calamity.  With  the  confidence  of 


THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL  391 

those  who  do  not  understand  the  workings  of  a  car,  they 
waited  to  have  it  start  again. 

But  both  girls  screamed  when  suddenly  a  new  voice 
was  heard.  Rachael,  starting  nervously  as  a  man's 
figure  came  about  the  car  out  of  the  black  night,  in 
the  next  second  saw,  with  a  great  rush  of  relief,  that  it 
was  Ruddy  Simms.  He  was  a  mighty  fellow,  devoted 
to  the  Gregorys.  He  proceeded  rather  awkwardly  to 
explain  that  he  hadn't  liked  to  think  of  their  trying  to 
cross  the  Bar,  and  so  had  come  with  them  on  the 
running  board. 

"Oh,  Ruddy,  how  grateful  I  am  to  you!"  Rachael 
said.  "Perhaps  you  can  go  back  and  get  us  a  tow? 
What  can  we  do?" 

"Stuck?"  asked  Ruddy,  wading  as  unconcernedly 
about  the  car  as  if  the  sun  were  shining  on  the  scene. 

"No,  I  don't  think  so,  not  yet.  But  I  can  feel  the 
road  under  us  giving  already.  And  I've  killed  my 
engine!" 

Ruddy  deliberated. 

"Won't  start,  eh?" 

"She  simply  won't!" 

"Ain't  got  a  crank,  have  ye?" 

Rachael  stared. 

"Why,  yes,  we  have,  under  my  seat  here.  But  is 
there  a  chance  that  she  might  start  on  cranking?"  she 
said  eagerly. 

"  Dun't  know,"  Ruddy  said  non-committally. 

Rachael  was  instantly  on  her  feet,  and  after  some 

f roping  and  adjusting,  the  cranking  was  attempted, 
ailure.     Ruddy  went  bravely  at  it  again.     Failure. 
Again  Rachael  touched  the  starter. 

"No  use!"  she  said  with  a  sinking  heart. 
But  Ruddy  was  bred  of  sea-folk  who  do  not  expect 
quick  results.  He  tugged  away  again  vigorously,  and 
again  after  that.  And  suddenly — the  most  delicious 
sound  that  Rachael's  ears  had  ever  heard — there  was 
the  sucking  and  plunging  that  meant  success.  The 
car  panted  like  a  giant  revived,  and  Ruddy  stood  back 


392  THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL 

in  the  merciless  green  light  and  sent  Rachael  a  smile. 
His  homely  face,  running  rain,  looked  at  her  as  bright 
as  an  angel's. 

"Dun't  know  as  I'd  stand  there,  s'deep  in  my  tracks!'5 
shouted  Ruddy. 

Gingerly,  timidly,  she  pushed  the  car  on  some  ten 
feet.  "What  Fs  thinking,"  suggested  Ruddy  then, 
coming  to  put  his  face  in  close  to  hers,  and  shouting 
over  the  noise  of  wind  and  water,  "is  this:  if  I  was  to 
walk  ahead  of  ye,  kinder  feeling  for  the  road  with  my 
feet,  then  you  could  come  after,  d'ye  see?" 

"Oh,  Ruddy,  do  you  think  we  can  make  it,  then?'* 
Rachael's  face  was  wet  with  tears. 

"Dun't  know,"  he  said.  He  took  off  his  immense 
boots  and  gray  socks,  and  rolled  up  his  wet  trousers, 
the  better  to  feel  every  inch  of  rise  or  fall  in  the  ground 
beneath  his  feet,  and  Millie  held  these  for  him  as  if  it 
were  a  sacred  charge. 

And  then,  with  the  full  light  of  the  lamps  illumining 
his  big  figure,  and  with  the  water  rushing  and  gurgling 
about  them,  and  the  rain  pouring  down  as  if  it  were  an 
actual  deluge,  they  made  the  crossing  at  Clark's  Bar. 
The  shifting  water  almost  blinded  Rachael  sometimes, 
and  sometimes  it  seemed  as  if  any  way  but  the  way 
that  Ruddy's  waving  arms  indicated  was  the  right 
one;  as  if  to  follow  him  were  utter  madness.  The 
water  spouted  up  through  the  clutch,  and  once  again 
the  engine  stopped,  and  long  moments  went  by  before 
it  would  respond  to  the  crank  again.  But  Rachael 
pushed  slowly  on.  She  was  not  thinking  now,  she  was 
conscious  of  no  feeling  but  that  there  was  an  opposite 
shore,  and  she  must  reach  it. 

And  presently  it  rose  before  them.  The  road  ran 
gradually  upward,  a  shallow  sheet  of  running  water 
covering  it,  but  firm,  hard  roadway  discernible  never- 
theless. Rachael  stopped  the  car,  and  Ruddy  came 
again  and  put  his  face  close  to  hers,  through  the  cur- 
tains. 

"Now  ye've  got  straight  road,  Mrs.  Gregory,  and  I 


THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL  393 

hope  to  the  good  Lord  you'll  have  a  good  run.  Thank 
ye,  Millie — much  obliged!" 

"Ruddy!"  said  Rachael  passionately,  her  wet  gloves 
holding  his  big,  hairy  hands  tight.  "I'll  never  forget 
this !  If  he  has  a  chance  to  live  at  all,  this  is  his  chance, 
and  you've  given  it  to  him!  God  bless  you,  a  thousand 
times!" 

"That's  all  right,"  said  Ruddy,  terribly  embarrassed, 
"You've  always  been  awful  good  to  my  folks.  I'm 
glad  we  done  it!  Good-night!"  Then  Ruddy  had 
turned  back  for  the  walk  home  in  the  streaming  black- 
ness, and  Rachael,  drawing  a  deep  breath,  was  on  her  way 
again.  She  stopped  only  for  a  quick  question  to  Mary. 

"No  change?" 

"Just  the  same." 

The  wet  miles  flew  by;  rain  beat  untiringly  against 
the  curtains,  slished  in  two  great  feathers  of  water 
from  under  the  rushing  wheels.  Rachael  watched  her 
speedometer ;  twenty-five — twenty-eight — thirty — they 
could  not  do  better  than  that  in  this  weather.  And 
they  had  a  hundred  miles  to  go. 

But  that  hundred  was  only  eighty-six  now,  only 
eighty.  Villages  flew  by,  and  men  came  out  and  stood 
on  the  dripping  porches  of  crossroad  stores  to  marvel 
as  the  long  scream  of  Rachael's  horn  cut  through  the 
night  air.  Twenty  minutes  past  eight  o'clock — eight 
minutes  of  nine  o'clock.  The  little  villages  began  to 
grow  dark. 

There  was  nothing  to  pass  on  the  road;  so  much  was 
gain.  Except  in  the  villages,  and  once  or  twice  where 
a  slow,  rattling  wagon  was  plodding  along  on  the  wet 
mirror-like  asphalt,  Rachael  might  make  her  own 
speed.  The  road  lay  straight,  and  was  an  exception- 
ally good  road,  even  in  this  weather.  She  need  hardly 
pause  for  signboards.  The  rain  still  fell  in  sheets. 
Seventy-two  miles  to  go. 

"How  is  he,  Mary?" 

"The  same,  Mrs.  Gregory.  Except  that  he  gives 
a  little  groan  now  and  then — when  it  shakes  him!" 


394  THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL 

"My  boy!     But  not  sleeping?" 

"Oh,  no,  Mrs.  Gregory.     He  just  lies  quiet  like." 

"God  bless  him!"  Rachael  said  under  her  breath. 
Aloud  she  said:  "Millie,  couldn't  you  lean  over,  and 
watch  him  a  few  minutes,  and  see  what  you  think?" 

Then  they  were  flying  on  again.  Rachael  began  to 
wonder  just  how  long  the  run  was.  They  always  care- 
lessly called  it  "a  hundred  miles."  But  was  it  really 
a  hundred  and  two,  or  ninety-eight  ?  What  a  difference 
two  or  three  miles  would  make  to-night !  She  fell  into 
a  nervous  shiver;  suppose  they  reached  the  bridge, 
and  then  Mary  should  touch  her  arm.  "He  doesn't 
look  right,  Mrs.  Gregory!"  Suppose  that  for  the  little 
boy  that  they  finally  carried  into  New  York  there  was 
no  longer  any  hope.  Her  little  Derry 

The  child  that  might  have  been  the  joy  of  a  happy 
home,  that  might  have  grown  to  a  dignified  inheritance 
of  the  love  and  tenderness  that  had  been  between  his 
father  and  mother.  Robbed  in  his  babyhood,  taken 
away  from  the  father  he  adored,  and  now — this !  Sixty- 
one  miles  to  go. 

"Detour  to  New  York."  The  sign,  with  all  its 
hideous  import,  rose  before  her  suddenly.  No  help 
for  it;  she  must  lose  one  or  two,  perhaps  a  dozen  miles, 
she  must  give  up  the  good  road  for  a  bad  one.  She 
must  lose  her  way,  too,  perhaps.  Had  Kane  gone  over 
this  road  yesterday?  It  was  much  farther  on  that 
she  had  spoken  to  Kane.  Perhaps  he  had,  but  she 
could  not  remember,  doubt  made  every  foot  of  the  way 
terrible  to  Rachael.  She  could  only  plunge  on,  over 
rocks,  over  bumps,  into  mud-holes.  She  could  only 
blindly  take  what  seemed  of  two  turnings  the  one  most 
probably  right. 

"Oh — Mother!"  The  little  wail  came  from  Derry. 
Rachael,  her  heart  turned  to  ice,  slowed  down — stopped 
and  leaned  into  the  half  darkness  in  the  back  of  the 
car.  The  child's  lovely  eyes  were  opened.  Rachael 
could  barely  see  his  white  face. 

."My  darling!"  she  said. 


THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL  395 

"Will  you  not — bump  me  so,  Mother?"  the  little  boy 
whispered. 

"I  will  try  not  to,  my  heart!"  Rachael,  wild  with 
terror,  looked  to  Mary's  face.  Was  he  dying,  now  and 
here  ? 

"Oh  Moth— it  hurts  so!" 

"Does  it,  my  darling?" 

He  drowsed  again.  Rachael  turned  back  to  her 
wheel.  They  must  go  more  slowly  now,  at  any  cost. 

The  road  was  terrible,  in  parts,  after  the  hours  of 
heavy  rain,  it  seemed  almost  impassable.  Rachael 
pushed  on.  Presently  they  were  back  in  the  main 
road  again,  and  could  make  better  time.  Of  the  hun- 
dred miles  only  fifty  remained.  But  that  meant  noth- 
ing now.  How  much  time  had  she  lost  in  that  frightful 
bypath?  Rachael's  face  was  dripping  with  rain,  rain 
had  trickled  under  her  clothing  at  neck  and  wrists. 
Through  her  raincoat  the  breast  of  her  gown  was  soak- 
ing, and  her  feet  ached  with  the  strain  of  controlling 
the  heavy  car.  Water  came  in  long  runnels  through 
the  wind-shield,  and  struck  her  knees;  she  had  turned 
her  dress  back,  her  thin  silk  petticoat  was  soaked,  and 
the  muscles  of  knees  and  ankles  were  cold  and  sore. 
But  she  felt  these  things  not  at  all.  Her  eyes  burned 
ahead,  into  the  darkness,  she  heard  nothing  but  the 
occasional  fluttering  moan  from  Deny ;  she  thought  noth- 
ing but  that  she  might  be  too  late — too  late — too  late! 

At  the  first  town  of  any  size  she  stopped,  a  telegram 
to  George  taking  shape  in  her  mind.  But  the  wires 
here  were  down,  as  they  had  been  farther  down  the 
Island.  The  rain  was  thinning,  but  the  wind  was 
rising  every  secondhand  as  she  rushed  on  she  saw  that 
in  many  places  the  lights  on  the  road  were  out;  all  the 
Island  lay  battered  and  bruised  under  the  storm. 

Slowly  as  they  seemed  to  creep,  yet  the  miles  were  go- 
ing by.  Freeport — Lynbrook — Jamaica — like  a  woman 
in  a  dream  she  reached  the  bridge  and  a  moment 
later  looked  down  upon  the  long  belt  of  lights  winking 
in  the  rain  that  was  New  York. 


396  THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL 

And  here,  on  the  very  apex  of  the  bridge,  came  the 
most  heart-rending  moment  of  the  run,  for  the  little 
boy  began  to  cough,  and  for  two  or  three  frightful 
minutes  the  women  hung  over  him,  speechless  with 
terror,  and  knowing  that  at  any  second  the  exhausted 
little  body  might  succumb  to  the  strain.  Blindly,  as 
with  a  long,  choked  cry  he  sank  back  again,  Rachael 
went  back  to  her  wheel.  Third  Avenue — Fifth  Avenue 
— Forty-second  Street  tore  by;  they  were  running 
straight  down  toward  Washington  Arch  as  the  clocks 
everywhere  struck  midnight.  The  wide  street  was 
deserted  in  the  rain,  it  shone  like  a  mirror,  reflecting 
long  pendants  of  light. 

They  were  turning  the  corner;  she  was  out  of  the  car, 
and  had  glanced  at  the  familiar  old  house.  Wet,  ex- 
hausted, fired  by  a  passion  that  made  her  feel  curiously 
light  and  sure,  Rachael  put  her  arms  about  her  child, 
and  carried  him  up  the  steps.  Mary  had  preceded  her, 
the  door  was  opened;  a  dazed  and  frightened  maid  was 
looking  at  her. 

Then  she  was  crossing  the  familiar  hall;  lights  were 
in  the  library,  and  Warren  in  the  library,  somebody 
with  him,  but  Rachael  only  caught  a  glimpse  of  the  old 
familiar  attitude:  he  was  sitting  in  a  straight-backed 
chair,  his  legs  crossed,  and  one  firm  hand  grasping  a 
silk-clad  ankle  as  he  intently  listened  to  whatever  was 
being  said. 

"Warren!"  she  said  in  a  voice  that  those  who  heard 
it  remembered  all  their  lives.  "It's  Derry!  He's 
hurt — he's  dying,  I  think!  Can  you — can  you  save 
him?"  And  with  a  great  burst  of  tears  she  gave  up 
the  child. 

"My  God — what  is  it!"  said  Warren  Gregory  on  his 
feet,  and  with  Derry  in  his  arms,  even  as  he  spoke. 
For  a  second  the  tableau  held:  Rachael,  agonized,  her 
beautiful  face  colorless,  and  dripping  with  rain,  her 
husband  staring  at  her  as  if  he  could  not  credit  his 
senses,  the  child's  limp  body  in  his  arms,  yet  not  quite 
freed  from  hers.  In  the  background  were  the  white- 


THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL  397 

faced  servants  and  the  gray-headed  doctor  upon  whose 
conversation  the  newcomers  had  so  abruptly  broken. 

"We've  just  brought  him  up  from  Clark's  Hills!" 
Rachael  said. 

"From  Clark's  Hills You  !" 

His  look,  the  dear  familiar  look  of  solicitude  and 
concern,  tore  her  to  the  soul. 

"There  was  nothing  else  to  do!"  she  faltered. 

"But — you  drove  up  to-night?" 

"Since  seven." 

He  looked  at  her,  and  Rachael  felt  the  look  sink  into 
her  soul  like  rain  into  parched  land. 

"And  you  came  straight  to  me!"  His  voice  sank. 
"  Rachael,"  he  said,  "I  will  save  him  for  you  if  I  can!" 

And  instantly  there  began  such  activities  in  the  old 
house  as  perhaps  even  its  dignified  century  of  living 
had  never  known.  Rachael,  hungry  through  these 
terrible  hours  of  suspense  for  just  the  wild  rush  and 
hurry,  watched  her  husband  as  if  she  had  never  seen 
him  before.  Presently  lights  blazed  from  cellar  to 
attic,  maids  flew  in  every  direction,  fires  were  lighted, 
the  moving  of  heavy  furniture  shook  the  floors.  Derry, 
the  little  unconscious  cause  of  it  all,  lay  quiet,  with 
Mary  watching  him. 

New  York  had  been  asleep;  it  was  awakened  now. 
Motor  cars  wheeled  into  the  Gregorys'  street;  Mrs. 
Gregory  herself  answered  the  door.  Here  was  the 
nurse,  efficient,  yst  sympathetic,  too,  with  her  para- 
phernalia and  her  assistants.  Yes,  she  had  been  able 
to  get  it,  Doctor  Gregory.  Yes,  Doctor,  she  had  that. 
Here  was  the  man  from  the  drug  store — that  was  all 
right,  Doctor,  that  was  what  he  expected,  being  waked 
up  in  the  night;  thank  you,  Doctor.  And  here  was 
George  Valentine,  too  much  absorbed  in  the  business 
in  hand  to  say  more  than  an  affectionate  "Hello"  to 
Rachael.  But  with  George  was  Alice,  white-faced  but 
smiling,  and  little  sleepy  Jimmy,  who  was  to  be  smug- 
gled immediately  into  bed. 


398  THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL 

"I  thought  you'd  rather  have  him  here,"  said  Alice. 

Rachael  knew  why.  Rachael  knew  what  doctors 
said  to  each  other,  when  they  gathered,  and  used  those 
quick,  low  monosyllables.  She  knew  why  Miss  Red- 
ding was  speeding  the  arrangements  for  the  improvised 
operating-room  with  such  desperate  hurry.  She  knew 
why  one  of  these  assisting  doctors  was  delegated  to  do 
nothing  but  sit  beside  Derry,  watching  the  little  hurt 
breast  rise  and  fall,  watching  the  bubble  of  blood  form 
and  break  on  the  swollen  mouth. 

Warren  had  told  her  to  get  into  dry  clothing,  and  then 
to  take  a  stimulant,  and  have  something  to  eat.  And 
eager  to  save  him  what  she  could,  she  was  warm  and 
dry  now.  She  sat  in  Derry's  room,  and  presently, 
when  they  came  to  stand  beside  him,  Warren  and 
George,  they  found  her  agonized  eyes,  bright  with 
questions,  facing  them.  But  she  knew  better  than  to 
speak. 

Neither  man  spoke  for  a  few  dreadful  moments* 
Warren  looked  at  the  child  without  a  flicker  of  change 
in  his  impassive  look;  George  bit  his  lip,  and  almost 
imperceptibly  shook  his  head.  And  in  their  faces 
Rachael  read  the  death  of  her  last  faint  hope. 

"We  don't  dare  anesthetize  him  until  we  know  just 
the  lie  of  those  broken  ribs,"  said  Warren  gravely  to 
his  wife,  "and  yet  the  little  chap  is  so  exhausted  that 
the  strain  of  trying  to  touch  it  may — may  be  too  much 
for  him.  There's  no  time  for  an  X-ray.  Some  of 
these  fellows  think  it  is  too  great  a  risk.  I  believe  it 
may  be  done.  If  there  are  internal  injuries,  we  can't 
hope  to "  He  paused.  "But  otherwise,  I  be- 
lieve—" 

Again  his  voice  dropped.  He  stood  looking  at  the 
little  boy  with  eyes  that  were  not  a  surgeon's  now;  all  a 
father's. 

"Good  little  chap,"  he  said  softly.  "Do  you  remem- 
ber how  he  used  to  watch  Jim,  through  the  bars  of  his 
crib,  when  he  was  about  eight  months  old,  and  laugh 
as  if  Jim  was  the  funniest  thing  in  the  world?" 


THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL  399 

Rachael  looked  up  and  nodded  with  brimming  eyes. 
She  could  not  speak. 

They  carried  Derry  away,  and  Rachael  followed 
them  up  to  the  head  of  the  stairway  outside  of  the 
operating-room,  and  sat  there,  her  hands  locked  in  her 
lap,  her  head  resting  against  the  wall.  Alice  dared  not 
join  her,  she  kept  her  seat  by  the  library  fire,  and  with 
one  hand  pressed  tight  against  her  eyes,  tried  to  pray. 

Rachael  did  not  pray.  She  was  unable  even  to  think 
clearly.  Visions  drifted  through  her  tired  brain,  the 
panorama  of  the  long  day  and  night  swept  by  unceas- 
ingly. She  was  in  Eighth  Avenue  again,  she  was  in  the 
hot  train,  with  the  rain  beating  against  the  windows, 
and  tears  running  down  her  hot  cheeks.  She  was  en- 
tering the  house — "Where's  my  boy?"  And  then  she 
was  driving  the  car  through  that  cruel  world  of  water 
and  wind.  She  would  have  saved  him  if  she  could! 
She  had  done  her  share.  Instantly,  unflinchingly, 
she  had  torn  through  blackness  and  storm;  a  battered 
ship  beating  somehow  toward  the  familiar  harbor. 
Now  he  must  be  saved.  Rachael  knew  that  madness 
would  come  upon  her  if  these  hideous  hours  were  only 
working  toward  the  moment  when  she  would  know 
that  she  had  been  too  late.  For  the  rest  of  her  life  she 
would  only  review  them:  the  Bar,  the  wet  roads,  the  de- 
tour, and  the  frightful  seconds  on  the  bridge.  There 
had  been  something  expiatory,  something  symbolic 
in  this  mad  adventure,  this  flight  through  the  night. 
The  fires  that  had  been  burning  in  her  heart  for  the 
past  terrible  hours  were  purged,  she  must  be  changed 
forevermore  after  to-night.  But  for  the  new  birth, 
Derry  must  not  be  the  price!  The  strain  had  been  too 
great,  the  delicate  machinery  of  her  brain  would  give, 
she  could  not  take  up  life  again,  having  lost  him — and 
lost  him  in  this  way 

They  were  torturing  him;  the  child's  cry  of  utter 
agony  reached  her  where  she  sat.  It  came  to  her,  in  a 
flash,  that  Warren  had  said  there  might  be  no  merciful 


400  THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL       ^ 

chloroform.  Cold  water  broke  out  on  her  forehead, 
she  covered  her  ears  with  her  hands,  her  breath  coming 
wild  and  deep.  Derry! 

"Oh,  no— Daddy!  Oh,  no,  Daddy!  Oh,  Mother- 
Mother !" 

"Oh,  my  God!  this  is  not  right,"  Rachael  said  half 
aloud.  "Oh,  take  him,  take  him,  but  don't  let  him 
suffer  so!" 

She  was  writhing  as  if  the  suffering  were  her  own. 
For  perhaps  five  horrible  moments  the  house  rang, 
then  there  was  sudden  silence. 

"Now  he  is  dead,"  Rachael  said  in  the  same  quiet, 
half-audible  tone.  "I  am  glad.  He  will  never  know 
what  pain  is  again.  Five  perfect  little  years,  with 
never  one  instant  that  was  not  sweet  and  good.  Ger- 
ald Fairfax  Gregory — five  years  old.  One  sees  it  in 
the  papers  almost  every  day.  But  who  thinks  what  it 
means?  Just  the  mother,  who  remembers  the  first  cry, 
and  the  little  crumpled  flannel  wrappers,  and  the  little 
hand  crawling  up  her  breast.  He  walked  so  much 
sooner  than  Jim  did,  but  of  course  he  was  lighter.  And 
how  he  would  throw  things  out  of  windows — the  cam- 
era that  hit  the  postman!  Oh,  my  God!" 

For  the  anguished  screaming  had  recommenced,  and 
the  child  wanted  his  mother. 

Rachael  bore  it  for  endless,  agonizing  minutes. 
Presently  Alice,  white-faced,  was  kneeling  on  the  step 
below  her,  and  their  wet  hands  were  clasped. 

"Dearest,  why  do  you  sit  here!" 

"Oh,  Alice,  could  I  get  Warren,  do  you  think?  They 
mustn't — it's  too  cruel!  He's  only  a  baby,  he  doesn't 
understand!  Better  a  thousand  times  to  let  him  go — 
tell  them  so!  Get  George — tell  him  I  say  so!" 

"Rachael,  it's  terrible,"  said  Alice,  who  was  crying 
hard,  "b-b-but  they  must  think  there  is  a  chance,  dear. 
We  couldn't  interrupt  them  now.  He  would  see  you — 
there,  he's  quiet  again.  That  may  be  all!" 

But  it  was  not  the  end  for  many  hours.  The  wo- 
men on  the  stairs,  and  the  sobbing  maids  in  the  dining- 


THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL  401 

room,  hoped  and  despaired,  and  grew  faint  and  sick 
themselves  as  the  merciless  work  went  on.  Once 
George  came  out  of  the  room  for  a  few  minutes,  with  a 
face  flaked  with  white,  and  his  surgeon's  gown  crumpled, 
wet  with  water  and  stained  here  and  there  a  terrible 
red.  He  did  not  speak  to  either  woman,  and  in  answer 
to  Alice's  breath  of  interrogation  merely  shook  his  head. 

At  four  o'clock  Warren  himself  came  to  the  door. 
Rachael  sprang  to  her  feet,  was  close  to  him  in  a  second. 
The  sight  of  him,  his  gown,  his  hands,  his  dreadful  face, 
turned  Alice  faint,  but  Rachael's  voice  was  steady. 

"What  is  it?" 

"We  are  nearly  done.  Nearly  done,"  Warren  said. 
"I  can't  tell  yet — nobody  can.  But  I  must  finish  it. 
Do  you  think  you  could — he  keeps  asking  for  you.  I 
am  sorry  to  ask  you " 

"Hold  him?"  Rachael's  voice  of  agony  said.  "Yes, 
I  could  do  that.  I — I  have  been  wanting  to ! " 

"No — there  is  no  necessity  for  that.  He  is  on  the 
table.  But  if  he  could  see  you.  It  is  the  very  end  of 
our  work,"  he  answered.  "It  may  be  that  he  can't — 
you  must  be  ready  for  that." 

"I  am  ready,"  she  said. 

A  second  later  she  was  in  the  room  with  the  child. 
She  saw  nothing  but  Derry,  his  little  body  beneath  the 
sheet  rigidly  strapped  to  the  table.  The  group  gave 
place,  and  Rachael  stood  beside  him.  His  beautiful 
baby  eyes,  wild  with  terror  and  agony,  found  her;  she 
bent  over  him,  and  laid  her  fingers  on  his  wet  little  fore- 
head. He  wanted  his  mother  to  take  him  away,  he  had 
been  calling  her — hadn't  she  heard  him  ?  Please,  please, 
not  to  let  anyone  touch  him  again ! 

Rachael  summoned  a  desperate  courage.  She  spoke 
to  him,  she  could  even  smile.  Did  he  remember  the 
swing — yes,  but  he  didn't  remember  Mother  bringing 
him  all  the'way  up,  so  that  Daddy  and  Uncle  George— — 

His  brave  eyes  were  fixed  on  hers.  He  was  trying 
to  remember,  trying  to  answer  her  smile,  trying  to 
think  of  other  things  than  the  recommencing  pain. 


402  THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL 

No  use.  The  hoarse,  terrible  little  screams  began 
again.  His  little  hand  writhed  in  hers. 

"Mother — please — will  you  make  them  stop?" 

Rachael  was  breathing  deep,  her  own  forehead  was 
wet.  She  knew  the  child's  strength  was  gone. 

"Just  a  little  more,  dearest/'  she  said,  white  lipped; 
eyes  full  of  agonized  appeal  turned  to  George. 

"Doctor "  One  of  the  nurses,  her  hand  on  his 

pulse,  said  softly.  George  Valentine  looked  up. 

Rachael's  apprehensive  glance  questioned  them  both. 
But  Warren  Gregory  did  not  falter,  did  not  even  glance 
away  from  his  own  hands. 

Then  it  was  over.  The  tension  in  the  room  broke 
suddenly,  the  atmosphere  changed,  although  there  was 
not  an  audible  breath.  The  nurses  moved  swiftly  and 
surely,  needing  no  instructions.  George  lifted  Derry's 
little  hand  from  Rachael's,  and  put  one  arm  about  her. 
Warren  put  down  his  instrument,  and  bent,  his  face  a 
mask  of  anxiety,  over  the  child.  Deny  was  breathing 
— no  more.  But  on  the  bloodless  face  that  Warren 
raised  there  was  the  light  of  hope. 

"I  believe  he  will  make  it,  George,"  he  said.  "I 
think  we  have  saved  him  for  you,  Rachael!  No — no — 
leave  him  where  he  is,  Miss  Moore.  Get  a  flat  pillow 
under  his  head  if  you  can.  Cover  him  up.  I'm  go- 
ing to  stay  here." 

"Wouldn't  he  be  more  comfortable  in  his  bed?" 
Rachael's  shaken  voice  asked  in  a  low  tone.  She  was 
conscious  only  that  she  must  not  faint  now. 

"He  would  be,  of  course.  But  it  may  be  just  by  that 
fraction  of  energy  that  he  is  hanging  on.  Brave  little 
chap,  he  has  been  helping  us  just  as  if  he  knew " 

But  this  Rachael  could  not  endure.  Her  whole 
body  shook,  the  room  rocked  before  her  eyes.  She 
had  strength  to  reach  the  hall,  saw  Alice  standing  white 
and  tense,  at  the  top  of  the  stairs — then  it  was  all 
darkness. 

It  seemed  hours  later,  though  it  was  only  minutes, 
that  Rachael  came  dreamily  to  consciousness  in  her 


THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL  403 

own  old  room,  on  her  own  bed.  Her  idly  moving  eyes 
found  the  shaded  lamp,  found  Alice  sitting  beside  her. 
Alice's  hand  lay  over  her  own.  For  a  long  time  they 
did  not  speak. 

A  perfect  circle  of  shadow  was  flung  on  the  high  ceiling 
from  the  lamp.  Outside  of  the  shadow  were  the  famil- 
iar window  draperies,  the  white  mantel  with  its  old 
candlesticks,  the  exquisite  crayon  portrait  of  Jim  at 
three,  and  Derry  a  delicious  eighteen-months-old. 
There  was  the  white  bowl  that  had  always  been  rilled 
with  violets,  empty  now.  And  there  were  the  low 
bookcases  where  a  few  special  favorites  were  kept,  and 
the  quaint  old  mahogany  sewing-table  that  had  been 
old  Mrs.  Gregory's  as  a  bride. 

Rachael  was  exhausted  in  every  fibre  of  body  and 
soul,  consecutive  thought  was  impossible  now;  her 
aching  head  defied  the  effort,  but  lying  here,  in  this  dim 
light,  there  came  to  her  a  vision  of  the  years  that 
might  be.  If  she  were  ever  rested  again,  if  little  Derry 
were  again  his  sunny,  resolute  self,  if  Warren  and  she 
were  reunited,  then  what  an  ideal  of  fine  and  simple  and 
unselfish  living  would  be  hers!  How  she  would  cling 
to  honor  and  truth  and  goodness,  how  she  would  fortify 
herself  against  the  pitfalls  dug  by  her  own  impulsive- 
ness. She  and  Warren  had  everything  in  life  worth 
while,  it  was  not  for  them  to  throw  their  gifts  away. 
Their  home  should  be  the  source  of  help  to  other  homes, 
their  sons  should  some  day  go  out  into  the  world 
equipped  with  wisdom,  disciplined  and  self-controlled, 
ready  to  meet  life  far  more  bravely  than  ever  their 
mother  had. 

There  was  a  low  voice  at  her  door.  Alice  was  gone, 
and  Warren  was  kneeling  beside  her.  And  as  she  laid 
one  tired  arm  about  his  neck,  in  the  dear  familiar 
fashion  of  the  past,  and  as  their  eyes  met,  Rachael 
felt  that  all  her  life  had  been  a  preparation  for  this 
exquisite  minute. 

"I  thought  you  would  like  to  know  that  he  is  sleeping: 


404  THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL 

and  we  have  moved  him,"  Warren  said.  "In  three 
days  you  will  have  him  roaring  to  get  up." 

Tears  brimmed  Rachael's  eyes. 

"You  saved  him,"  she  whispered. 

"  You  saved  him;  George  says  so,  too.  If  that  fellow 
down  there  had  given  him  chloroform,  there  would  have 
been  no  chance.  Our  only  hope  was  to  relieve  that 
pressure  on  his  heart,  and  take  the  risk  of  it  being  too 
much  for  him.  He's  as  strong  as  a  bull.  But  it  was  a 
fight!  And  no  one  but  a  woman  would  have  rushed 
him  up  here  in  the  rain." 

Rachael's  eyes  were  streaming.  She  could  not 
speak.  She  clung  to  her  husband's  hand  for  a  moment 
or  two  of  silence. 

"And  now,  I  want  to  speak  to  you,"  Warren  said, 
ending  it.  "  I  have  nothing  to  say  in  excuse.  I  know — 
I  shall  know  all  my  life,  what  I  have  done.  It  is  like  a 
bad  dream." 

His  uncertain  voice  stopped.  Husband  and  wife 
looked  full  at  each  other,  both  breathing  quickly,  both 
faces  drawn  and  tense. 

"  But,  Rachael,"  Warren  went  on,  "  I  think,  if  you 
knew  how  I  have  suffered,  that  you  would — that  some 
day,  you  would  forgive  me.  I  was  never  happy. 
Never  anything  but  troubled  and  excited  and  confused. 
But  for  the  last  few  months,  in  this  empty  house,  seeing 
other  men  with  their  wives,  and  thinking  what  a  wife 

you  were It  ha^  been  like  finding  my  sight — like 

coming  out  of  a  fever "  He  paused.  Rachael  did 

not  speak. 

"I  know  what  I  deserve  at  your  hands,"  Warren  said. 
"Nobody — nobody — not  old  George,  not  anyone — can 
think  of  me  with  the  contempt  and  the  detestation  with 
which  I  think  of  myself!  It  has  changed  me.  I  will 
never — I  can  never,  hold  up  my  head  again.  But, 
Rachael,  you  loved  me  once,  and  I  made  you  happy — • 
you've  not  forgotten  that!  Give  me  another  chance. 
Let  me  show  you  how  I  love  you,  how  bitterly  sorry 
I  am  that  I  ever  caused  you  one  moment  of  pain !  Don't 


THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL  405 

leave  me  alone.  Don't  let  me  feel  that  between  you 
and  me,  as  the  years  go  by,  there  is  going  to  be  a  widen- 
ing gulf.  You  don't  know  what  the  loneliness  means 
to  me!  You  don't  know  how  I  miss  my  wife  every 
time  I  sit  down  to  dinner,  every  time  I  climb  into  the 
car.  I  think  of  the  years  to  come — of  what  they  might 
have  been,  of  what  they  will  be  without  you!  And 
I  can't  bear  it.  Why,  to  go  down  with  you  and  the 
boys  to  Clark's  Hills,  to  tell  you  about  my  work,  to ; 
take  you  to  dinner  again — my  God !  it  seems  to  me  like 
Heaven  now,  and  I  look  back  a  few  years,  when  it  was 
all  mine,  and  wonder  if  I  have  been  sane,  wonder  if  too 
much  work,  and  all  the  other  responsibilities,  of  the 
boys,  and  Mother's  death,  and  the  estate,  and  poor 
little  Charlie,  whether  I  really  wasn't  a  little  twisted 
mentally!" 

Rachael  tightened  her  arms  about  his  neck,  pressed 
her  wet  face  to  his. 

"Sweetheart,"  said  her  wonderful  voice,  a  mere  tired 
essence  of  a  voice  now,  "if  there  is  anything  to  forgive, 
I  am  so  glad  to  forgive  it!  You  are  mine,  and  I  am 
yours.  Please  God  we  will  never  be  parted  again!" 

And  then  for  a  long  time  there  was  silence  in  the  room, 
while  husband  and  wife  clung  together,  and  the  hurt 
of  the  long  months  was  cured,  and  dissolved,  and  gone 
forever.  What  Warren  felt,  Rachael  could  only  know 
from  his  tears,  and  his  passionate  kisses,  and  the  grip 
of  his  arms.  For  herself,  she  felt  that  she  might  gladly, 
die,  being  so  held  against  his  heart,  feeling  through 
her  entire  being  the  rising  flood  of  satisfied  love  that 
is  life  and  breath  to  such  a  nature  as  hers.  f 

"I  am  changed,"  said  Warren  after  long  moments;1 
"you  will  see  it,  for  I  see  it  myself.  I  can  see  now  what| 
my  mother  meant,  years  ago,  when  she  talked  to  mej 
about  myself.  And  I  am  older,  Rachael." 

"I  am  not  younger,"  Rachael  said,  smiling.     "And; 
I  think  I  am  changed,  too.     AlFthe  pressure,  all  the 
nervous  worry  of  the  last  few  years,  seem  to  be  gone. 
Washed   away,  perhaps,  by  tears — there  have  been 


406  THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL 

tears  enough!  But  somehow — somehow  I  am  confi- 
dent, Warren,  as  I  never  was  before,  that  happiness  is 
ahead.  Somehow  I  feel  sure  that  you  and  I  have  won 
to  happiness,  now,  won  to  sureness.  With  each  other, 
and  the  boys,  and  books  and  music,  and  Home  Dunes, 
the  years  to  come  seem  all  bright.  After  all,  we  are 
young  to  have  learned  how  to  live!" 

And  again  she  drew  his  face  down  to  hers. 

Alice  did  not  come  back  again,  but  Mary  came  in 
with  a  cup  of  smoking  soup.  Mrs.  Valentine  had 
taken  the  doctor  home,  but  they  would  be  back  later 
on.  It  was  after  six,  and  Doctor  Gregory  said  Mrs. 
Gregory  was  to  drink  this,  and  try  to  get  some  sleep. 
But  first  Mary  and  Rachael  must  talk  over  the  terrible 
and  wonderful  night,  and  Rachael  must  creep  down  the 
hall,  to  smile  at  the  nurse,  who  sat  by  the  heavily 
sleeping  Derry. 

Then  she  slept,  for  hours  and  hours,  while  the  winter 
sun  smiled  down  on  the  bare  trees  in  the  square  and 
women  in  furs  and  babies  in  woolens  walked  and  chat- 
tered on  the  leaf-strewn  paths. 

Such  a  sleep  and  such  a  waking  are  memorable  in  a 
lifetime.  Rachael  woke,  smiling  and  refreshed,  in  a 
radiant  world.  Afternoon  sunshine  was  streaming  in 
at  her  windows,  she  felt  rested,  deliciously  ready  for 
life  again. 

To  bathe,  to  dress  with  the  chatting  Jimmy  tying 
strings  to  her  dressing-table,  to  have  the  maids  quietly 
and  cheerfully  coming  and  going  in  the  old  way;  this 
in  itself  was  delight.  But  when  she  tiptoed  into  Derry 's 
room,  and  found  hope  and  confidence  there,  found  the 
blue  eyes  wide  open,  under  the  bandage,  and  heard  the 
enchanting  little  voice  announce,  "I  had  hot  milk, 
Mother,"  Rachael  felt  that  her  cup  of  joy  was  brim- 
ming. 

He  had  fallen  out  of  the  swing,  Derry  told  her,  and 
Dad  had  hurted  him,  and  Jimmy  added  sensationally 
that  Derry  had  broken  his  leg! 


THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL  407 

"But  just  the  same,  we  wanted  our  Daddy  the  mo- 
ment we  woke  up  this  morning,"  Miss  Moore  smiled, 
"and  we  managed  to  hold  up  one  arm  to  welcome  him, 
and  it  was  Daddy  that  held  the  glass  of  milk,  wasn't  it, 
Gerald?" 

"She  calls  me  Gerald  because  she  doesn't  know  me 
very  well/'  said  Derry  in  a  tactful  aside,  and  Rachael, 
not  daring  to  laugh  for  fear  of  beginning  to  cry,  could 
only  kiss  the  brown  hand,  and  devour,  with  tear- 
dazzled  eyes,  the  eager  face. 

Then  she  and  Jimmy  went  down  to  have  a  meal  that 
was  like  breakfast  and  luncheon  and  tea  in  one,  with 
Warren.  And  to  Rachael,  thinking  of  all  their  happy 
meals  together,  since  honeymoon  days,  this  seemed  the 
best  of  all.  The  afternoon  light  in  the  breakfast-room, 
the  maids  so  poorly  concealing  their  delight  in  this 
turn  of  events,  little  Jim  so  pleased  at  rinding  a  meal 
served  at  this  unusual  hour,  and  his  parents  seemingly 
disposed  to  let  him  eat  anything  and  everything,  and 
Warren,  tired — so  strangely  gray — and  yet  utterly 
content  and  at  peace;  these  made  the  hour  memorably 
happy;  a  forerunner  of  other  happy  hours  to  come. 

"It  seems  to  me  that  there  never  was  such  a  bright 
sunshine,  and  never  such  a  nice  little  third  person,  and 
never  such  coffee,  and  such  happiness!"  said  Rachael, 
her  eyes  reflecting  something  of  the  placid  winter  day; 
soul  and  body  wrapped  in  peace.  "Yesterday — only 
yesterday,  I  was  wretched  beyond  all  believing!  To- 
day I  think  I  have  had  the  best  hours  of  my  life!" 

"It  is  always  going  to  be  this  way  for  you,  Rachael," 
her  husband  said,  "my  life  is  going  to  be  one  long  effort 
to  keep  you  absolutely  happy.  You  will  never  grieve 
on  my  account  again!" 

"Say  rather,"  she  said  seriously,  "that  we  know  each 
other,  and  ourselves,  now.  Say  that  I  will  never  de- 
mand utter  perfection  of  you,  or  you  of  me.  But, 
Warren — Warren — as  long  as  we  love  each  other " 

He  had  come  around  the  table  to  her  side,  and  was 
kneeling  with  his  arms  about  her.  and  Rachael  locked 


408  THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL  , 

her  hands  about  his  neck.  He  was  tired,  he  had  had 
no  sleep  after  the  difficult  night,  and  he  seemed  to  her 
strangely  broken,  strangely  her  own.  Rachael  felt 
that  he  had  never  been  so  infinitely  dear,  so  much  hers 
to  protect  and  save.  The  wonder  of  marriage  came  to 
her,  the  miracle  of  love  rooted  too  deep  for  disturb- 
ance, of  love  fed  on  faults  as  well  as  virtues;  so  light  a 
tie  in  the  beginning,  so  powerful  a  bond  as  the  years 
go  by. 

"As  long  as  we  love  each  other!"  she  said,  smiling 
through  tears,  her  eyes  piercing  him  to  the  very  soul. 

He  did  not  speak,  and  so  for  a  moment  they  re- 
mained motionless,  looking  at  each  other.  But  when 
she  released  him,  with  one  of  her  quick,  shy  kisses,  he 
knew  that  the  heart  of  Rachael  was  satisfied. 


THE  END 


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75 


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UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA,  SANTA  CRUZ 

. • 

This  book  is  due  on  the  lost  DATE  stamped  below. 


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